


Deleted Scenes

by SonneillonV



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonneillonV/pseuds/SonneillonV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a scene deleted from the final cut of Season Two.  Sterek.  Character-Driven, low plot-to-smut ratio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Based on [this interview](http://blog.zap2it.com/frominsidethebox/2012/08/teen-wolf-scoop-the-sterek-scene-between-stiles-and-derek-that-you-didnt-see.html) with Davis.

Having Stiles sprawled bonelessly on top of him was… discomfiting at best. It wasn’t that it was unpleasant, though Derek was definitely irritated about the circumstances and felt maddeningly constrained by Stiles’ weight since he was helpless to move it. Helplessness was a feeling he was getting accustomed to, and he hated every moment of it; helplessness usually meant he lost someone. In this case he couldn’t even see what was going on – he could barely move his head, and straining to see past the horizon of his own eyelids was starting to give him a headache. Half his view was blocked by Stiles’ shoulder and the curve of his head, so maybe that part was objectively unpleasant. But Stiles’ hot breath on the crook of his neck, his warmth, the panicked throb of his heart that faded into a gentler rhythm as he stopped freaking out about his paralysis and started to think through the situation, those things weren’t so bad. He could hear, he could smell, when Stiles started worrying away at a problem – his hyperactive brain was like a dog with a bone. It might circle away to chase its own tail once in a while, but it kept coming back and digging a little deeper with each pass. If Derek thought there was half a chance they might think their way out of this, he would have been more forgiving, but he didn’t see how Stiles could outthink a neurotoxin. That kind of mind-over-matter control would require superhuman abilities and Stiles, whatever else he was, was totally, damnably, exasperatingly human.

With the two of them trapped in this impotent pile, Scott was out there alone, and that was something Derek couldn’t help fretting about. Scott was maddeningly independent but he was just a pup. He’d shown a definite talent for discovering his own talents and juggling the unique problems that came with Lycanthropy, but he didn’t have Derek’s decades of experience or the benefit of werewolf ancestors passing down centuries of wisdom. He was flying blind, and he repeatedly resisted Derek’s offers of illumination in favor of doing things his own way. Now, with Matt controlling Jackson and the Argent Patriarch still a wild card in play, the situation had escalated outside of Scott’s ability to deal with, and Derek had to lie here, helpless, watching Matt conduct his own private symphony of destruction. 

His thought process ground to a screeching halt when he felt something hot and wet wiggling against his cheek.

“… What are you doing?” he asked Stiles, though he really didn’t think he wanted to know why the paralyzed boy was licking him.

“I ca sill oov I ongue,” Stiles explained helpfully, still pushing it against Derek’s cheek. Derek realized he was trying to push himself off, and the absurdity of that drew a soft explosion of breath from him.

“You.. you can’t…” he protested, trying to turn his face away and failing. “Stop—“

“Ngo, ngo, I od id…” Stiles insisted as his tongue found Derek’s jaw, much firmer than his cheek, and pushed there, and Derek began to wish he could melt into the ground.

“Stilinski,” he growled in warning, and then Stiles’ head flopped and he gave a defeated groan right into Derek’s ear. Derek wished he had enough physical control to squirm, but it appeared he was going to be denied even that protest. Stiles was indefatigable, because after a moment of rest, breathing softly against Derek’s earlobe, he tried again… this time his tongue went right into Derek’s ear.

“Okay,” Derek blurted out in burgeoning desperation. “STOP. Just… just stop.”

“Sorry,” Stiles panted, and let himself go limp, which shifted the distribution of his body weight just slightly. His thigh pinched certain, er… sensitive parts… back against Derek’s thigh, and he swallowed hard, praying Stiles wouldn’t notice.

“Oh.” He’d noticed. “Oh. Oh, god, I am so, so sorry…” he babbled, and Derek cut him off with a hiss of annoyance.

“We’re not talking about this,” he informed Stiles in a growl.

“Nononono of course not!” He could smell Stiles returning panic.

“We’re never talking about this. Not now, not ever.”

“Yeah, yeah, not now, not ever. Promise. Lips are sealed.” He exhaled heavily and Derek tensed, and then Stiles tensed. “Sorry!”

Since there was nothing Stiles could do about getting off him, Derek chose to let that last apology go unremarked while he threw his brain vivid pictures of the most revolting things he could think of. It was an uphill battle – Stiles was still breathing against his neck, and he smelled like uncertainty and inexperience, the kind of wide-eyed innocence that made the Wolf want to sink its teeth in. It was a close shave, by the time Matt came back and kicked Stiles off him there was nothing to draw his attention… but despite his warning against ever mentioning it again, he knew Stiles wouldn’t forget. Because apparently Derek didn’t have enough aggravations in his life already.


	2. Chapter 2

They didn’t talk about it, but the way Stiles was acting, they didn’t have to.

It was written in his posture after the events at the Sheriff’s station.  It was written in his eyes in the aftermath of Jackson’s transformation, when he’d gotten out of the car and lingered near Scott along with Derek, who was still trying to figure out when and how Scott had become some kind of trickster god.  His scent had changed suddenly, flooding with pheromones, and Derek wondered if Stiles had just been somehow blissfully unaware that Derek was a living, breathing, sexual creature until now.

Then again, he usually gave off pheromones whenever Derek pushed him around.  Not to this degree, but there had been times when that scent had caused his aggression to give way to something a little less hostile and a lot more uncomfortable.  He’d figured it was plain old wolf charisma – one only needed to witness Erica’s transformation to see the effects of that – and the fact that, if he was being objective, he could acknowledge that he was pretty good-looking.

Derek was trying to ignore it, hoping eventually Stiles would file that incident away in his ‘not worth thinking about’ cache where it belonged, and sometimes he did seem to forget it briefly.  Frustratingly, it was always Derek who reminded him of it… Stiles would be acting normal for a few minutes, and then Derek would go look over his shoulder, and then as soon as he breached a certain, unspoken radius of proximity it was the Sheriff’s station all over again, but without the crippling paralysis and threat of imminent death.  Suddenly, Stiles and his wild, nervous, hyper-sensitive  _awareness_  was all he could smell.  It made him want to break something, Stiles’ neck being at the top of the list.  It made him want to scent along the curve of that slender, fragile throat and sink his teeth in.  No matter how much he denied that last part inside his own head, that seemed to be the only vibe Stiles was getting, and it was obviously driving him crazy.

Scott had caught on, but in the chaos of things he hadn’t seen fit to bring it up, and Derek was grateful for his discretion.  He’d caught Boyd giving him some sidelong looks as well – that pup was far too observant for his own good. Thankfully  Erica was far too self-absorbed and Isaac too enamored with Scott to pay much attention, and as Derek laid that out in his mind he realized suddenly that he was in danger of a full-blown mutiny.  He’d made those three, given them a tremendous gift, but their loyalty drifted toward Scott with every passing day.  Oddly, it didn’t make him angry; he felt… resigned.  Like some part of him had known he would never get his family back, that attempts to replace them would always be futile.  That loneliness was crushing when he let himself feel it, so he didn’t.

If all he had left in the end was Peter, he’d chalk that up to the infinitely cruel ironies of an uncaring universe.

That was the scenario that plagued him when he had time to himself.  He was sprawled on the remains of his old bed, a smoke-stained, moth-chewed mattress on a bent frame that was no longer quite big enough for him, forcing him to hang his feet off the edge, staring at the burn-patterns on the ceiling and trying to come to terms with the direction his life was headed.  Scott poaching his pack was bad enough, though of course he didn’t hate Scott, he actually kind of loved Scott in a bizarre and deeply private way.  That was the only reasonable explanation for why he was so obsessed with his safety and his well-being.  He kept trying to connect with him and failing, which sucked, because he was starting to think a real connection with Scott was the solution to the entire pack problem.  

But Scott seemed to be tearing down the Alpha path at full speed, and Derek didn’t relish the idea of a prolonged power struggle between the two of them.  Packs could work with more than one Alpha – the Alpha Pack was proof of that – but it wasn’t easy and it took a good match of personalities and leadership styles to make it work.  He and Scott already butted heads too often for him to hold out much hope that they could have a harmonious partnership.

Someone walked up the porch steps, someone whose stride he didn’t immediately recognize.  The person wasn’t trying to be stealthy but they were uncertain, shuffling slightly as they hesitated at the front door, then raised a hand to knock.  He was pretty sure he knew who it was, so when Stiles carefully opened the front door and called his name into the derelict house, he didn’t bother responding.  Stiles was no threat, and also no one he particularly wanted to see.

Stiles was a hard person to dissuade though.  When no one answered his call he started exploring further inward, avoiding the busted stairs as he climbed them, making the banister creak from his weight.  His soft-soled shoes scuffed along the warped wooden floors, and he peeked into a couple of the other rooms, closing in relentlessly on Derek’s.  Derek searched for the motivation to get up and didn’t find it. 

When Stiles opened his bedroom door and visibly startled at the sight of him, he was still staring at the ceiling.

“Jesus, there you are.  I called,” Stiles said nervously, fidgeting in the doorway.  Cool air caressed Derek’s skin and he suddenly remembered he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on that morning.  Now he could feel the weight of Stiles’ gaze on him.  “Um,” Stiles said articulately, and Derek let out an exasperated sigh.

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly, and though that hadn’t been an invitation, Stiles slipped into his room and closed the door behind him, leaning back against it.  His presence seemed to suck the air out of the already-stuffy bedroom.  

“N-nothing, nothing really,” Stiles stammered, babbling as he usually did when he was nervous or lying.  “I mean, nothing’s wrong.  Everything’s fine.  As fine as it gets.  You know.”  His hands, nearly swallowed by the sleeves of his hoody, flopped aimlessly.  “I just… you know, you hadn’t… popped in through my window lately so I figured I’d… check in on you.”  Stiles voice cracked and he swallowed.  It was obvious he knew how lame he sounded.  “So how are things?” he added weakly.  “With you?”

“Get out,” Derek said flatly, and Stiles nodded, turning and groping frantically for the doorknob, muttering agreement in rapid, half-formed apologies for invading Derek’s home, for presuming, for bothering him.  He got the door open, but then he stopped, shoulders framed in the doorway, the tendons along the back of his neck drawn tight.

“No,” he said.  “You know what?”  He bit his lip and turned around, firmly shutting the door again and crossing toward Derek.  Fortunately for him, he stopped out of arms-reach.  “No.”  It was clearly taking all the courage he possessed to defy Derek, and luckily Derek didn’t have the energy to get out of bed and press the point.  He entertained himself with fantasies of making Stiles pay for it later, but those fantasies abruptly turned heated, so he shattered them like glass and flung the shards away.

“Look, you haven’t been around so much,” Stiles was saying.  “I think everybody’s kind of enjoying their freedom, but you know, Jackson and Scott really don’t get along and he’s been asking about you.  Jackson, not Scott,” he clarified, then amended, “well, Scott kind of wonders about you too.”

“And what, you pulled the short straw?” Derek said dryly.

“What?”  Stiles blinked, then got it.  “Oh, no… no, no,” he assured him.  “I… nobody actually really knows I’m here,” he confessed, and then winced.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”  At Derek’s long, flat glare, he rambled, “Actually, I just swung by because I was kind of, after everything that happened, I was wondering if… I mean, it’s probably stupid to worry about you, but hey, I never claimed to be a genius….”

“It is stupid to worry about me,” Derek said, and Stiles paused, groping for words.

“Well….”

“Especially since I know what you’re hiding under that sweatshirt.”  That shut Stiles up for a few merciful seconds.  Derek finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and rippled to his feet, all muscle and predatory grace, bare feet silent on the charred floor-boards as he closed the distance between them.  Stiles didn’t back down, but he did avoid eye contact studiously and turn such a ferocious shade of red Derek had to roll his eyes.  “The bruises,” he clarified.  “Cuts.  It’s been a rough week for you, especially since you don’t heal like we do.  Maybe you ought to be worrying about yourself.”  He leaned in to murmur that last bit, but his proximity didn’t intimidate Stiles the way it used to.  He was scared, and Derek could smell that, but he was also responding – to Derek’s closeness, to his shirtlessness, maybe even to his scent.  Since he hadn’t bothered to take a bath yet that day, even a human could have scented the feral masculinity radiating from him.  

“I’m okay,” Stiles exhaled shakily, focused on the empty space next to Derek, avoiding his eyes when Derek angled his head trying to catch his gaze.  “Nothing important.  Nothing to worry about.”

“Stiles, you’re human,” Derek said firmly.  “You’re fragile.  Sooner or later, if you stay mixed up in this, you’re going to take an injury you can’t brush off.”

“I know,” Stiles assured him with haste.  “I know.  But….”  For a brief moment, his eyes flicked up and held Derek’s.  “What am I gonna do?” he asked helplessly.  “He’s my best friend.”  Resignation was written through all the lines of his body - whatever he had to suffer through to stay by Scott’s side, he’d endure, and Derek’s mouth tightened in frustration.

“You need to go home,” he growled, and Stiles shrugged.

“Home’s not really… after all that stuff, my dad’s kind of freaking out.  I tried to be there for him but I think he’s kind of obsessing over what I was doing at the station, why I’m always there when freaky shit happens… he had to catch on sooner or later,” Stiles sighed.  “I dunno.  I just don’t think I’m ready for that conversation.  ‘Cause I have to spill  _everything_ , don’t I?”  He glanced back up at Derek, searching his face.  “For it to make any kind of sense that doesn’t, like, implicate me as the criminal mastermind behind a dozen murders and all kinds of whacky shenanigans.  And now that Scott’s mom knows, they’ve been friends, like, forever, so it’s really only a matter of time, but how do you… how do you sit down with a reasonable, logical guy and say, ‘hey Dad, I’m finally gonna tell you the truth, and it’s  _werewolves_ ’?”  He gave a short, humorless laugh.  “Like he doesn’t already have enough trouble trusting me anymore.”  His adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and Derek sighed.  Stiles’ obvious misery and loneliness harmonized with his own, and it was hard to have the kid standing there in front of him trying not to cry and not feel like he was responsible.  Stiles was human, but he was so intimately woven into the fabric of Scott’s life, so involved now with everything and everyone Derek interacted with, it was hard not to see him as pack – especially when Scott obviously did.  He’d come so close to being a real pack-mate, offered full membership by Peter, turning it down for reasons Derek couldn’t really speculate on, and right now, he was the only one here.  Derek was willing to bet Stiles had been checking in on his pups too, because Stiles was the team mom and the only person who refused to acknowledge that fact was Derek.

But Scott was distracted now with Allison, with Isaac, with his mother, and Lydia had just rekindled the flames between her and Jackson.  Stiles was watching people migrate away from him just like Derek.  Maybe he was here today to seek out the one other person who could match him resigned isolation.

“Stiles,” Derek began, and paused to search for better, wiser words.  “Ever since the first moment things started going wrong around here you have stuck your nose in… to everything,” he concluded, letting his frustration seep out through his voice.  “You won’t shut up, you won’t stay home, you won’t exercise even a modicum of caution… you don’t know how lucky you are, really.  You should be dead several times over.  Or infected.  That you’re not already a werewolf is kind of a small miracle and if you don’t stop this, it’s only a matter of time.  And I assume you don’t want that, since you had the chance and you turned it down.”

Stiles pursed his mouth and looked evasive and Derek understood.  He wanted it – of course he wanted it, who wouldn’t? – but something else, maybe even something as circumstantial as a (highly intelligent) mistrust of Peter, had won over his need to be included.  Or maybe he just wasn’t ready, or maybe he thought Scott still needed him as an anchor for a while before he could return the favor.

“Look,” Derek said, softening a little.  “All I’m saying is… you’re involved in this.  You’re up to your neck in it.  You’re already suffering, and it’s only going to get worse.  But clearly you’re some kind of masochist because here you are.  And I think you know it’s coming, and how close you’ve come to death.  I mean, you know I’ve seriously considered killing you, right?” he asked pointedly, and earned a flinch.  “If that’s not enough to scare you away, I don’t know what will.  So sooner or later, you’re going to have to tell your dad.  You don’t have a choice.  He’s the sheriff,” Derek pointed out, and saw Stiles frown at him in puzzlement.  “If you don’t tell him, you’re keeping information from him that could save his life.  How can he protect himself if he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with?  And he’s also your father.  That he’s put up with all this… you lost him his job,” he reminded Stiles, whose eyes were suspiciously shiny.  “I mean, he loves you.  If all the crap you’ve pulled over the last year hasn’t swayed him on that point, ‘hey, guess what, werewolves!’ isn’t going to do the job.”

Stiles gave a fragile laugh.  “Yeah, he might have me committed to the nut house though.”

Derek shrugged.  “So prove it to him.  Scott would probably help you.  He and Scott’s mom can commiserate.”

“Yeah,” Stiles hedged.  “Though, I mean, let’s be honest, Scott’s transformation isn’t that impressive.”

“Give it time,” Derek said ominously, and then added, “You’re going to have to tell him about me, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Jackson.  What’s really going on with Lydia, why Allison’s been acting like a fourth-amendment survivalist nut.  Take him down the rabbit hole, he’ll find plenty of proof.  Should satisfy him.”

“That doesn’t worry you?” Stiles asked.  “That he’ll know that you… turn into a big furry monster and you infected a bunch of high schoolers on purpose and your crazy uncle came back from the dead and your family was actually murdered by that Allison’s whacked-out Aunt who was subsequently murdered?  And her mom committed suicide because you infected her when she was trying to murder Scott?  And…. Jesus, how am I going to do all this,” Stiles fretted, “I can’t do all this, he’s the Sheriff, he has to, like, investigate all this crap and it’s going to be terrible and this isn’t going to work, Derek,” he fussed, “I mean, Scott’s mom is one thing, she’s just a nurse, you know?  But my Dad has responsibilities to the law and to the state department and he can’t, he can’t just hear this and ignore it and and and… and…….”  Stiles trailed off when Derek gripped his shoulders, forcing him to hold still.

“Calm down,” he ordered, and Stiles sucked in a deep breath, his heart rate slowing drastically when he looked up and got caught by Derek’s gaze.  For a long moment, they just stared at each other and Derek gently, firmly, squeezed Stiles’ shoulders.  “Calm down,” he repeated, and Stiles nodded, lips faintly parted, flushed and bee-stung from chewing at them.  “It may be that… when you tell your Dad, he feels like he needs to investigate the things that have happened.  Now, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac all consented to be Turned and they’ll tell him that.  There’s no law against Lycanthropy.”

“Pfft.  Yet,” Stiles snarked, and Derek managed a wry smile.

“Right, no law yet.  And the Argents are responsible for their own affairs.  Allison’s mother tried to murder Scott in cold blood; he was no threat to her or to Allison.  The injuries she sustained were an accident – I was trying to save Scott’s life and she tried to kill me for interfering.  She chose to take her own life rather than live like me and that was her choice, made from her own prejudices.  Honestly, I think I do all right, all things considered.”

Stiles blinked, then scoffed.  “No, you don’t.”  Derek’s expression indicated he’d misstepped, so he added, “Not because of the werewolf thing, well, I guess maybe it’s related, but I mean, you’re all alone out here, man.  You’re living in a burned-out house with your relatives buried everywhere.  Waking up in this house every day, it has to hurt you.  You’re not doing okay.”

Derek sucked in an irritated breath.  “Okay, maybe this was a mistake.”  He forcibly spun Stiles around and propelled him toward the door.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Stiles protested, and threw out his hands and foot, catching himself on the door frame.  Derek could easily have forced him through, but he allowed the delay because he didn’t want to accidentally break Stiles’ arms.  “I’m sorry, okay?  I’m not trying to insult you.  Jeez, what is it with you?” he babbled.  “You can lurk around trying to take care of everybody whether they like it or not but nobody gets to take care of you?”

“Basically.”  Derek was losing patience, but Stiles just dug in harder.

“No,” he said emphatically.  “Bullshit, man.  That’s bullshit.”  He grunted as he pushed back against the frame.  “You… need… someone.”  Derek wound his arms around Stiles’ waist and tried to pick him up, and Stiles squirmed like an agitated cat in his arms, twisting, grabbing onto Derek’s shoulder, kicking out to try to push them away from the door.  “ACK!  Quit--!  Derek, come on, what are you so afraid of?” he demanded as he dug his nails into Derek’s bare shoulders.  Derek growled as Stiles’ nails dragged across his skin, but he found Stiles’ flailing limbs wouldn’t go through the door, so instead he just threw him.  Stiles curled up with a yelp, expecting to crash painfully against wood, but instead he found himself bouncing against the protesting squeak of Derek’s ancient bed springs… his heart skipped a beat in relief, right until Derek was on top of him, fingers knotted in his short hair, forcing him to expose his throat in an extremely wolfish show of dominance.  Stiles gasped for breath and tried not to feel the pressure of Derek’s knee biting into the mattress and pressing against his crotch.  Derek growled, a sound no true human could make, deep and rumbling, and Stiles hands flopped uselessly against his chest before he finally went still and curled his fingers.  Derek was ferociously warm.  Stiles was surrounded by his heat.  Slowly, he flattened his hands against Derek’s chest and slid them up to his shoulders, fingertips following the tendons of his neck, and Derek’s bellows-breathing came to an abrupt stop.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, and Derek’s breath left him in a slow, shuddering sigh.

“No, you’re not,” he murmured, and Stiles grimaced.

“Okay, not really.  But, I mean, did you ever think… maybe the reason you… aren’t making the best impression on, y’know, Erica and them is that you don’t give them any opportunities to take care of you?  Like, at all,” he said carefully, his head spinning as he and Derek took short, sharp breaths of the same air.  “It’s like, they’re supposed to need you but you don’t need anybody.  How are they supposed to bond with you if they think you don’t need them?  You put yourself up there at the top and nobody can touch you.  Maybe you just need to… you know, come down, and be… touched.”  That was horrible phrasing and Stiles knew it, especially since Stiles fingers had continued their slow path upward and were now stroking the soft skin behind Derek’s ears in a way that made Derek want to close his eyes and burrow into him.  He resisted the urge, but since his knuckles were pressed hard against the crown of Stiles’ head, he couldn’t conceal the fine tremor in his hands.  

“I’m just saying.  I... we… want to care about you,” Stiles murmured against Derek’s bowed head.  “You could just let us.  Y’know?  Even Scott wants to be closer to you, but you’re just so grumpy all the time.  Sourwolf,” he murmured with clear affection, and that was still as ridiculous and random as the first time he’d said it and just like the first time it threw a wrench in Derek’s smoldering anger.  He gave a soft chuff that wasn’t quite a laugh.  Stiles’ fingers grazed the back of his head and he realized Stiles was getting comfortable, feeling safe, and he should stop this and reassert himself unless he wanted to lose all control of the situation.  With that thought he couldn’t deny that there was some truth to what Stiles had said – he was terrified of people touching him.  He wanted to be remote and it was no secret why; the explanation was all around them, listing on charred timbers as the months passed, beaten down by the rain.

Stiles’ fingers slid downward, through short dark hair, kneading over the tension at the nape of his neck.  He bit back a groan and struggled to remember why he didn’t want the teenager in his house.  They slid down, following the bumps of his spine, caressing the Triskele inked across his back, and it came back to him in a rush – Stiles was human,  _other_ , not pack, not family.  It was his kind who burned his family in the first place; it was a human, like Stiles, whom Darek had let into his life, enabling that destruction.  He’d let a human lull him once, touch him once, and he’d lost everyone he’d loved including her, and she had laughed at him as she stripped him down and tore open his wounds in the Argents’ basement.  Humans had taken his pups and imprisoned them, tormented them…

 _…Stiles set them free…_  his mind whispered, and he growled.  It was a human, another Argent, who had taken Scott, HIS Scott, his prodigal pup, and tried to poison him to death…  _and Stiles who broke the line so you could free him…_  a human who’d enslaved Jackson and made him commit twisted crimes, invaded his mind, warped his body… _and Stiles who brought the girl he loved to Jackson, knowing he would lose her when she freed him…._

“Derek.”

Stiles’ voice was faint, but it brought him back to the present, eyes fiercely gold, teeth slightly elongated.  Stiles had stopped touching his tattoo.  His fingers just stroked through Derek’s hair with unnecessary gentleness, as if he thought Derek was fragile.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispered.  “You know that, right?  Or Scott, or-or-or Isaac or Boyd or Erica.  You know I’d never betray you guys.  It’s kind of stupid,” he said, swallowing, “but you’re basically all I have.  You and my Dad.”

Derek reached up and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist, forcing it away from his head and pinning it above his head.

“O-okay, I don’t… fuck, I know you don’t want me here right now,” Stiles blurted out, “but I can’t go, okay?   _I can’t go_.  I don’t have anywhere to go that’s away from you.”  He stopped when Derek didn’t make any move to hurt or evict him, just knelt there, braced over him, keeping his hands safely pinned against the mattress.  “… Derek?”

 _I’m going to regret this.  I’ll never live it down.  He’ll never let me take it back and nothing will be the same,_  Derek thought as he bent his head, but he couldn’t talk himself out of it fast enough and then his mouth pressed softly against Stiles’.


	3. Chapter 3 (NC-17)

Stiles whimpered softly like the pup Derek wished he was so he could claim him the way he wanted to; he made do with parting his lips, coaxing Stiles’ mouth open and touching their tongues together in the midst of that wet heat.  Stiles tasted like trail mix – salt, peanuts, powdered cheese – and he surrendered with all the sweetness Derek could have possibly asked from him.  Best of all, he stopped talking, and Derek let himself linger in the intimacy and the silence… well, not complete silence.  His persistent nibbling on Stiles’ lower lip, the scrape of his teeth across Stiles’ tongue, the soft growl he gave when Stiles tested his grip on his hands, all these made Stiles moan.  He found himself easing his knee down the mattress and letting his hips trap Stiles against the bed so he could feel the effect he was having, a little delicious revenge for his prior embarrassment at the sheriff's  station, and Stiles’ heart tripped over itself when Derek’s thigh ground down against the seam of his jeans.  Of course, turnabout was fair play, and the sound Stiles made when Derek’s own hardness rubbed along his thigh was the sweetest, neediest one yet.

Derek opened his eyes – Stiles’ pupils were fiercely dilated, he was overwhelmed – and reluctantly broke the kiss, pushing himself up and back, giving the boy some breathing room.  It took several seconds for Stiles to come back to himself, but when he did he made a low noise of denial and tried again to get his wrists out of Derek’s grip.  Derek held him gently in place, so Stiles squirmed, arching his body, trapping Derek’s thigh between his.  “Don’t,” he whispered.  “Don’t stop.  Please, don’t.  No, no, no no no,” he begged as Derek pulled back further, responsibility crashing down once the moment was gone.  “No, don’t do this, Derek, please, I am begging you, don’t…!”  His voice broke, and he swallowed hard.  Derek let him go; he was sitting back on his heels, trying to collect himself, trying to remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea that would bring him nothing but grief.  Stiles scooted up to the headboard and sat, legs sprawled across the mattress, watching Derek – his expression grew slowly more grim, more resigned, more… crushed.

“Did you mean it?” he asked finally.

Derek drew a slow breath and tried to find an uncomplicated answer.  Before he could stumble across one, Stiles was moving, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and pushing himself to his feet.  To Derek’s astonishment, he paused to give Derek’s shoulder a comforting squeeze followed by a soft pat before shuffling to the door.  The latch clicked behind him and Derek’s chest clenched – he felt like he should stop Stiles, go and get him, bring him back or maybe tumble him onto the couch downstairs and shove his hands under his hoodie.  His almost-pup was leaving him and his instinctive reaction was as possessive as if he had Turned Stiles himself.

A wolf didn’t live long if he didn’t trust his instincts.  Before he knew it, he was off the bed, out the window, twisting his body and landing lightly on the porch.  He appeared in front of Stiles just as he stepped off the last stair, and before Stiles had time to look surprised he was scooping him up into his arms, carrying him into the living room, spilling him onto the ancient, dusty couch and slipping his hands under the hem of his sweatshirt.  Stiles was lean and his skin was hot, and he squirmed as Derek’s hands caressed the lines of his back, mapping those flexible muscles and kneading along his shoulder blades as Derek kissed him hungrily, over and over and over.  Stiles moaned against his mouth, hitching softly in relief or gratitude, hooking one leg around Derek’s waist so he could yank them together at the hips.  His hands were free and he wrapped them in Derek’s hair, returning the kiss with a needy eagerness that he’d been too blitzed to demonstrate before, biting Derek’s lower lip hard enough to make him growl.  Derek wanted more; he stripped Stiles’ hoodie up with rough hands, wrestling him out of it so he could blaze his mouth across that narrow chest and bite jutting collarbones.  Stiles yelped when he dug his teeth in, hissing, “Careful!” half in a whimper, but Derek knew better than to break the skin.  He sucked hard until Stiles dissolved in a groan, then raised his head and caught his eye.  

“I won’t,” he promised softly.  “Never without your consent.”

Stiles gulped.  “Thanks,” he whispered, and Derek leaned up and kissed him again, claiming his mouth as his hands slid firmly down the length of his back and slipped his fingertips under the waist of his jeans.  That earned a fluttering moan, and Derek drew one hand around front, hooking his fingers under the button of Stiles jeans, pausing to search his face.

“This too,” he said as Stiles stared at him, wide-eyed and gasping.  “Is this what you want?”  Stiles looked down, and looked nervous – he paled a little and had to swallow again between breaths – but he pursed his mouth, closed his eyes, laid back against the couch cushions, and gave a jerky nod.  Derek tugged at the button a little, but didn’t unsnap it.  “You know, if you’re not ready…” he began, letting the sentence trail into nothing as he waited for Stiles’ response.

“I’m…” Stiles took a deep breath.  “I’m kind of… I haven’t done much of anything before,” he admitted with clear embarrassment.  “So depending, um, what you have in mind, I might not… last….”  Derek’s expression was utterly unreadable and Stiles gave up trying to save face.

“I thought,” Derek said, without changing expression, “I might suck you off.”

“… Oh,” Stiles said weakly.  “Oh, holy hell.  That’s, um….”  Derek waited, impassive, for him to decide, and Stiles groped about for a moment, propped on his elbows, the soft trail of hair under Derek’s knuckles tickling his skin with the rise and fall of his breath.  “Look, I’m not gonna lie, that sounds amazing,” he babbled, “but it’d probably end up being pretty embarrassing.  For me,” he clarified hastily.

Derek just raised an eyebrow.  “Getting you to come is kind of the whole object,” he pointed out laconically.  “The quicker you do it, the sooner I can make you do it again.”

“… Oh god,” Stiles whimpered, flopping back against the couch.  “Oh, god.  You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Derek’s head tilted.  “Only if you want me to.”

Stiles blinked, then snickered.  “That’s not funny,” he chided, but he couldn’t help grinning when he saw a hint of a mischievous smile pulling at the corner of Derek’s mouth.  Derek leaned down and kissed his stomach, lips brushing over the fine hair just below his navel.

“It’s up to you.  You say if it’s too much or too fast.  I’ll be content either way as long as you’re  _here_.”

The emphasis on that last word, the unspoken ‘ _don’t go away_ ’, melted something in Stiles and he stroked a hand through Derek’s hair.  “Could we maybe hold off on that?” he asked.  “I mean… whatever you want to do, I want to do it with you, I just don’t know if I’d survive something that… intense… at this point.”

Derek considered that, then said, “but I can still get you off?”

“I…”  Stiles gawked.  “You have another plan?”

Derek let go of his jeans and slid his hands under him again, pushing them under his waistband, grinding his own hips down against Stiles in a steady, purposeful thrust as he cupped his ass in calloused palms.  “I’ve got another plan,” he confirmed as he dug his teeth into Stiles neck, and Stiles groaned and happily gave himself up to Derek’s touch.  His nails dragged across Derek's back as the older man moved against him in a slow hitch-and-grind Stiles would never have thought could feel so sensually raw and amazing.  Derek's mouth assaulted his throat, leaving marks he hoped he'd never have to explain, worrying at easily-bruised skin with his teeth and rubbing his stubble against the soft underside of Stiles' jaw.  All Stiles could do was gasp and cling, and surrender kisses when Derek claimed them - the Alpha was in control and the strength in his hands, the slow, powerful flex of his back, left no question of his dominance.

"Derek, fuck!" Stiles cursed, hating the whine in his voice, how fragile he sounded, but the things Derek was doing to him stole all the strength from his bones.  "Oh... oh hell...NPH..."  Derek's hands slid further into Stiles jeans and gripped his ass, fingertips brushing his thighs, and he shuddered and came without warning, not that he hadn't been hovering on the edge since Derek threatened to open his pants and blow him.  He cried out, and Derek kept thrusting against him, growling when Stiles bit his shoulder and holding him with bruising strength until it was over and he went still, gasping against Derek's skin, vision spotted with starbursts of random color.

When time sped up again, Derek was still holding him, stroking soothing hands along his back.  Stiles flushed in embarrassment - he'd warned Derek he wouldn't last, inexperience and teen hormones made for a volatile mix - but Derek didn't seem bothered.  His erection still pressed against Stiles' thigh through their jeans, and when Stiles got up the courage to meet his eyes, Derek surprised him with a rare, boyish smile.  Stiles couldn't help but smile back.

"That was a good plan," he offered, and Derek laughed.

"You liked that plan?" he teased, and nipped at Stiles' jaw.

"Mm-hm...."  Stiles stretched a little and found himself pleasantly languid and whole - despite all Derek's efforts, he wasn't actually missing chunks of his neck and shoulder.  He shifted, dragging his hip against Derek's tented jeans, and watched the reactions flit across Derek's features.  "What about you?" he asked, and reached down impulsively to press his hand against the telltale bulge.

Derek's eyes fluttered closed, and Stiles grinned.

"You don't want me to just leave you like this do you?" he asked coyly, leaning up to nuzzle along Derek's throat.  He squeezed firmly and earned a shuddering groan that sent a thrill of power up his spine.  "Here," he urged gently, squirming aside.  "Lay down... let me...."

Derek seemed to be in a compliant mood as long as Stiles had his hand on his dick, and he obediently melted against the couch, letting Stiles shift and adjust until their positions had almost fully reversed.  Stiles draped against him and slowly unbuttoned his jeans, tugging the zipper down.  "This okay?" he asked shyly, and Derek nipped his forehead.  Stiles decided to take that as consent; he slipped his hand past the zipper.  Warm cotton met his searching fingertips, and a little tugging made room in the opened space for Derek's erection to push the fabric between flaps of denim.  Stiles wasn't feeling quite brave enough to touch him directly, but this seemed to be more than enough - when he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, eyes widening slightly at the heft of it in his palm, Derek's head lolled back and he gave a low, growling moan that Stiles wished he could bottle and preserve for posterity.

The sight of Derek splayed half-naked under him made Stiles want to play.  He leaned down, testing at first, and nibbled along the curve of one pectoral - Derek's response was wholly positive, so he explored a little more, biting and nipping the way Derek had done to him as he worked Derek's shaft with steady, tight strokes.  He bit down hard on Derek's collarbone and Derek snarled at him, but his wolf-gold eyes were so glazed with pleasure that Stiles just snickered and nuzzled against his neck.  Derek's scent pooled everywhere so thickly even Stiles could smell it, hot and dark, rough around the edges like Derek himself.  Stiles dragged his tongue up the length of Derek's neck in an attempt to collect the taste and gave a yip of surprised pleasure when Derek responded by rolling into him, pinning him against the back of the couch, and crushing their mouths together in a desperately hungry kiss.  "Mmmph!" he moaned into his mouth, rubbing his thumb over the cotton-covered head, feeling how damp it was and knowing he'd have Derek cumming in his arms soon if he kept this up.

The door squeaked as it swung open, and light footsteps crossed the floor.  "Hey, Derek, are you home?" Erica called, and though Stiles jerked back and frantically looked for something to cover them, she walked in right as he was stuffing his hoodie down over Derek's crotch.  For a long moment, they just stared at her, Stiles blushing violently all over his body, Erica with her mouth forming a perfect little 'O'.  Derek let his head flop back against the arm of the couch and lifted a hand in a bland half-wave.  "Hello, Erica," he said with remarkable calm.

Erica clapped a hand over her mouth and burst into giggles.

"Oh... oh, god," Stiles lamented as she turned and scurried from the house, cackling all the way out.  He leaped off Derek, stumbled over his own jeans, and stumbled toward the door.  "She's going to tell everybody.  I mean,  _everybody_. I've got to..."  He glanced back at Derek, eyes wild.  "Oh, christ, I've got to stop her...!"

He raced out of the house after her.

Derek watched him go, then sagged against the couch in unspoken frustration and threw his arm over his eyes.


	4. (NC-17)

"Erica!"

Stiles was sliding on the wet leaves as he chased after the wolf girl.  She seemed to be navigating the leaf litter just fine in high heels, which he chalked up to the infinite injustice of the universe, because he could just  _tell_   by the way she was skipping along that she was about to destroy his life with gossip.  Desperate, he called after her again, hating the pathetic crack in his voice.  "ERICA!"

She stopped and spun around, still laughing at him as he slid and stumbled over to her, falling on his ass and bouncing back up with the aid of his own momentum.  He fidgeted his weight back and forth, rubbing his dirty hands on his jeans, listening to the words spill out of his mouth and scatter like marbles.  "Erica, oh my god, please don't tell anybody.  Please," he added when she just pressed her fingers over her mouth to conceal a giggle, "please, come on, you can't...."  He paused to take a deep breath and scan the woods.  They were truly alone or so it seemed, and Erica flipped her hair back and pursed her deliciously full lips at him.  "Please," he said, hands held out in supplication.  "Please, I'm begging you.  This is..."  He glanced back at Derek's house, fumbling for words.  "This is a new thing, like, brand new, like, you don't even know, and I'm just... you can't tell anyone, Erica, please, you've gotta do this for me."  He bit his lower lip and held up his hands, palms together, silently pleading with her.  "You gotta give me a break here.  If Scott finds out, or-or-or Lydia, or fuck me,  _Jackson_ , they're gonna freak out or they're going to eat me alive (that's Jackson, Jackson will eat me alive) and I just... look, I've kept your secrets," he pointed out.  "I keep  _all_  your secrets.  PLEASE keep just this one, single, tiny little secret for me?"

Erica caught her lower lip fetchingly between her teeth.  Her wicked-gleaming eyes contemplated Stiles, then flicked back toward the house, then rested on Stiles again.  In those eyes he could see his future shattering into a million pieces, a hundred awkward conversations he just wasn't ready for, and the social pressure that might very well convince Derek to cut him loose as too much of a hassle.  He had a feeling he was never more than a hairsbreadth from Derek cutting him lose anyway.  He pressed his prayer-clasped hands against his mouth, giving her the best puppy-dog eyes he knew how, hoping against hope that puppy eyes were super-effective on werewolves.

Erica finally let out a laughing breath and Stiles raised his eyebrows, wondering if that was a good sign.  "Stiles," she said, shaking her head.  "Look, if it's that important, I won't tell anybody."  Stiles dissolved into relief, shoulders slumping.

"God, Erica, god, just, thank you--"

"They're going to find out anyway," she interrupted, cutting off the stream of gratitude.  She arched a playful eyebrow at Stiles, white teeth flashing in a coy smile.  "You know that, right?  There's no way you can hide this for more than, mm, five minutes.  Maybe even not that."

Stiles frowned, thought about it, glanced at the house.  "Well," he hedged, "maybe a little longer than that?"

"Pffft."  Erica huffed.  "Stiles, right now, you  _reek_  of sex."

Stiles squawked.  "But we didn't have...!  I mean, okay, but-but-but there was no...!"  He made an awkward, fumbling motion, and Erica rolled her eyes at him.

"What, you want me to be more specific?  You smell like  _cum_ , Stiles.  That hot-boy smell, that please-fuck-me-now smell, it's all over your sweat, it's literally coming out of your pores.  Not to mention that stylish little wet spot," she added, glancing down at his crotch.

Stiles glanced down.  "Oh-- Fuck.  Oh, hell...."  He clapped his hands over the cum stain on his jeans and tried to ignore Erica laughing at him as he turned his back on her in embarrassment.

"Wow," Erica drawled in amusement.  "You blush  _every_ where, don't you?"

"Shut up," Stiles grumbled, and heard the leaves rustle as she shifted her weight.

"Look, I'm just trying to give you a heads-up," she said more kindly.  "Derek's scent is all over you right now.  I'm almost afraid to touch you, and I don't even have to see all those cute little bruises on your neck...."

Stiles cursed under his breath and clapped one hand over those too.

  
"Seriously?  Nobody's going to miss it.  Scott's going to know the minute you get within ten feet of him, and Jackson, and Isaac, and Boyd.  Lydia will probably just psychically know because she's a bitch like that.  Face it, you're screwed," she declared with a queenly toss of her head.

"I'm not screwed," Stiles muttered, "I'm trying to get screwed, that's the whole problem here, and w-what was that, anyway, don't you know how to knock?"

"Well, until right now, I didn't have to knock," she pointed out.  "I mean, Derek's our Alpha.  We're in and out of his house all the time.  If you really wanted to keep it a secret, maybe pick someplace better than the couch?"

"Look, that..."  Stiles' mouth pursed.  "That was just... it was spur-of-the-moment, this whole thing, but you know what that's irrelevant, you should always knock before you walk in someplace!"  His voice cracked - embarrassment tainted his outrage and Erica didn't seem impressed by his sputtering protests.  She laughed and began circling him, forcing him to turn to keep hiding the wet spot on the front of his jeans.

"Stiles, nobody cares," she said almost gently.  "Really.  Do you think we're going to mind that you're fucking Derek?  If you ask me, he could stand to have his pipes cleaned out, if you know what I mean," she said with a critical eye toward the house.  "I actually gave it a shot myself, but he didn't seem interested."  Her gaze lighted on Stiles, fairly smoldering with suggestive meaning.  "Maybe now we know why."

"Pfft... nooooo," Stiles scoffed, then hesitated.  "You think... really?"

She shrugged.  "I dunno.  But you're just going to have to accept the fact that there's no way this is ever going to be a secret.  It's just not going to happen.  And if Scott's mom, or your dad, or anybody who  _can't_  smell all Derek's uber-possessive sex pheromones all over you gets a look at those bite marks?  Even the civvies are gonna know you're getting it from somebody.  Might as well accept it," she advised him.  When Stiles heaved a sigh, she gave him a pitying look and came closer, brushing her nails through his hair and then grazing his cheek with the backs of her knuckles.  "Aww, Stiles.  It's not that bad.  I think it's really good, actually," she murmured.  "My two favorite crushes getting sexy all over each other.  I guess if I couldn't have either of you this is, like, the next best thing.  Just don't let Derek be a dick, right?  He's really good at that."

Stiles couldn't help a stuttering laugh.  "Yeah, kinda noticed that," he conceded, and couldn't help blushing in an entirely different way when Erica leaned in and brushed a kiss across his cheek. 

"It'll be okay," she assured him.  "Scott's your best friend, what's he going to do?  Tell Derek if he doesn't treat you right Scott'll put icy-hot in his jockstrap or something?  Actually," she said contemplatively, "Derek could stand to be told that, he's pushy.  But it'll be fine.  Things will be crazy-dramatic for a little while and then everybody will get used to it and calm down, I promise."  Stiles yelped when she gave his butt a fond smack and turned to sashay off into the woods.  For a moment he watched her go, chewing over her casual acceptance of something he hadn't come to terms with himself.  Then, remembering he'd left Derek hard and half-naked, he jerked out of his thoughts and sprinted back toward the house.

"Stiles!"

He drew up short on the porch and spun around.  Erica waved at him from the trees.

"If any of those boys give you any trouble?  Boyd or Jackson or whoever acting like jerks or picking on you about this?  You let me know," she commanded.  "I'll set them straight."

"Yeah," Stiles called back awkwardly.  "I'll keep that in mind."

She seemed satisfied with that response, so Stiles took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped back inside.  "So," he began nervously, "That was pretty awkward--"

  
There was nobody on the couch.

It took a moment to sink in, and then the air left Stiles in a disappointed hiss.  He rubbed a hand over his face.  It hadn't occurred to him to wonder how Derek might feel about his Pack knowing about them, but Derek had to expect it, right?  He knew all about werewolf senses.  He had to know that by doing this he was covering Stiles in his... what had Erica said?... uber-possessive sex pheromones.  But obviously Stiles had misunderstood something, or maybe Derek was just tired of the interruptions and had given up on him.  He should just go before he embarrassed himself any further....

The wood at the top of the stairs creaked, and Stiles' head shot up.  He stumbled sideways, grabbing the banister, looking up to see Derek Hale leaning against the post at the top of the staircase with one eyebrow raised in solicitous expectation.

"Well?" he asked evenly.  "You coming?"

 _Hell yes_ , Stiles was coming.  He swung around the banister and raced up the stairs - well, he attempted to race up the stairs.  He forgot about the broken steps and his foot crashed through a piece of wood-turned-charcoal and he almost face-planted across the steps but suddenly Derek was there, arms wrapped around Stiles' waist, pulling him out of the hole in the steps before he could really register he'd fallen into it.  "You okay?"  They both glanced down at his foot, but he still had his shoes on and the splinters hadn't managed to damage his ankle through his sock.

"Yeah," Stiles exhaled, "I think I'm okay.  Good save," he added, giving Derek's shoulder a congratulatory pat.  Derek smiled.

"Next time, try not to kill yourself," he suggested, and Stiles snorted.

"I'm pretty sure you just invited me to come do  _stuff_  with you in your bedroom," he pointed out, "on your bed.  Excuse me for..." he sucked in a breath, "... being over-eager."

"Well, my bedroom's more private," Derek reasoned, and Stiles nodded.

"Right.  Because as we just saw demonstrated, privacy is a good thing."  Derek was still holding onto him and Stiles gave a shaky laugh, clinging to his powerful shoulders.  "What, are you gonna carry me across your little threshold there?  Oh--!" he stammered as Derek promptly scooped him up and started climbing the stairs. "Oh... oh, oh, okay.  Wow.  Hah hah... okay."  His nails dragged across Derek's back as he tried to get a better grip, not sure how much he liked dangling around without his feet on the floor.

"Stop squirming," Derek said, and Stiles nodded.

"Right, yeah, that's.... stopping now," he said hastily at Derek's slit-eyed look.  Despite his worries, which were probably unfounded anyway, Derek didn't drop him until the much-abused mattress was under him, and even then he set him down gently, hands sliding down Stiles' back, across his ass, caressing the length of his thighs.  His hands caught on Stiles' Converses, tugging them off his heels and letting them drop to the floor.  Stiles swallowed hard and watched the werewolf's dark head bend over his stomach, brushing soft, stubble-roughened kisses along his belly, teasing him with sharp little nibbles that turned into playful sucking at his skin.  That kind of play so close to his groin had Stiles writhing under him, little hitched gasps and half-formed curses spilling from his lips.  By the time Derek unsnapped his jeans he was achingly hard and the wet spot on his boxers was making him seriously uncomfortable.  Derek's tongue flicking across a nipple distracted him from the slow descent of his zipper, and then Derek's fingers were hooked in the waist of his jeans, working them down over narrow hips, exposing the Family Guy pattern on his underwear.

Derek paused in his determined molestation to eye Stiles' boxers, and Stiles stammered, squirming a little, feeling exposed.  "It's, um," he fumbled as those glorious, cold blue eyes flicked up to meet his.  "There's this episode, um, where Stewie is, like, a sperm?  And he's piloting his little sperm ship?  So, like, the underwear, and it's a sperm ship... it's an inside joke," he said hastily, "You kinda had to be there..."

"I've seen the show," Derek informed him, and Stiles swallowed.

"Oh, yeah, well, then you know, it's actually pretty funn-MPH!"  He melted as Derek surged up and kissed him, and then his eyes rolled back and a shuddering groan wracked his body as Derek's hand slid under his jeans, squeezing his cock through his boxers.  He was _strong_  - Stiles tried not to think about how easily Derek could crush his manhood in steel fingers - and that firm grip stole all his attention, narrowing his awareness down to the heated play of tongue against tongue as Derek devoured his mouth and the slow, fondling movement of his hand.  He melted, toes curling, when Derek cupped and squeezed his balls through the soft cotton - the fabric did nothing to mitigate the ferocious heat of Derek's body, and as Derek's thumb rubbed against the sensitive spot where shaft and ball sac joined,  Stiles felt that molten heat spreading through his body, crawling along his limbs, dissolving him into a puddle of erotic need.  He wasn't doing much to reciprocate and Derek didn't seem to need him to.  His hands moved clumsily over Derek's chest, admiring the raw beauty of his frame.  He slid his arms around his Alpha's lean waist and held him, gasping against his mouth, surrendering to Derek's teeth as they tugged at his lower lip with a soft, rumbling growl that turned his bones to jelly.

Derek was intense at a distance.  This close, that icy smolder made Stiles feel like he'd been punched in the chest.  His fingers were wrapped around Stiles' shaft through his boxers, thumb idly teasing the glans, and Stiles bit his own lip, whimpering softly, already so close to cumming again.  He felt small, suddenly, and exhileratingly scared - that he was at Derek's mercy had never really been in question, but now he  _felt_  it.  He had only Derek's word, after all, that if he called a halt he would be heard, and did he really  _know_  that Derek wouldn't hurt him?  He'd come close a few times before, and really, crushing Stiles bones into powder would take so little effort for him....

Derek let go of his dick and braced himself on his elbows.  "I can smell it when you start getting scared," he told Stiles evenly.  "Is there a reason you're working yourself up?  These interruptions," he added when Stiles opened his mouth, "are getting kind of tiresome."

"It's nothing," Stiles mumbled, squirming under him.  "It's fine.  I just... sometimes I wonder, y'know?"  From the look on Derek's face, he didn't know, so reluctantly Stiles added, "How likely I am to... come out of this whole thing intact."

Derek frowned.  "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Really?"  Stiles forced a wobbly smile.  "Is that a new thing?  Because you seem to want to hurt me a lot."  He winced, hoping the reminder wouldn't rouse Derek's temper, but Derek just took a slow, frustrated breath through his teeth and clenched his jaw, turning those piercing blue eyes away from Stiles for a second as he chewed over his answer.

"Stiles," he said finally, "I jumped in front of that Kanima for you.  I'm not going to claim that was an expression of some kind of undying love.  I guess I can understand why you'd think that since I do threaten you fairly often, but you also really need to learn when to shut up.  But I'm not going to hurt you.  Not now, probably not ever.  Especially if this..." he waved a hand, "...  _thing_  keeps on in the direction it's going."

Stiles chewed his lower lip.  "I'd appreciate it," he said carefully, "if you and everybody else would quit slamming my head into things.  I'm only human," he reminded Derek, "My brain's actually pretty easy to damage.  DON'T say it," he warned, and Derek's eyebrows rose in innocent concession.  "I just... if you want to say 'shut up, Stiles' or 'go away, Stiles', that's fine, you know, I can deal with that.  But no more hitting me, or pushing me around," he begged.  "I bruise easy."

"Mm."  Derek's eyes wandered downward, and Stiles looked away - if there was pity there for all the bruises he was still carrying from the last week, he didn't especially want to see it.  He felt a slight ache as Derek's fingers pressed against a purplish spot just below his ribs, and closed his eyes, tightening his mouth, trying not to voice the pain.  The pressure stopped, and he exhaled slightly, then gave a surprised moan - as Derek's fingers moved away, his mouth covered the spot, softly brushing his lips over the bruise.  The warmth of his mouth sank into Stiles' skin, stealing the pain away, and he sighed in bliss, melting back against the lumpy mattress.  The more places Derek kissed, the better it felt, until Stiles dimly began to realize that this was not just the kind of normal, every-day comfort he might take from a show of physical affection - his bruised ribs stopped hurting, his wrenched wrist, the persistent throb in his kidneys that had kept him up all night after the beating, even the black-purple spot on his knee where he'd hit the ground too hard -  _all_  the pain was leaving him as Derek's mouth traveled across his body, laying tender kisses and the teasing brush of stubble.  

"That's... ohhhh," he moaned.  "What are you doing?"  He let out a breathy whimper as Derek's mouth found his neck, nuzzling along the soft skin, working his way up and nibbling at the corner of his jaw - that was the only time he used his teeth.  When Stiles turned his head, he had to close his eyes, because Derek cupped his cheek and kissed the still-tender eye socket that Gerard had so callously blackened.  He caught a glimpse of something, black veins crawling around Derek's mouth before fading back into his skin, when he cracked his other eye open; the image was blurred by his eyelashes, but he'd just opened his mouth to ask what it meant when Derek moved down and claimed his parted lips.  "Mmmm," he sighed as the Alpha's hands started moving over him again, stroking his newly pain-free body.  He twisted with a whimper when a calloused thumb rubbed over a nipple, pressed his belly into Derek's searching fingertips with a moan, went taut in anticipation as those fingers slid further down.  Under the waist of his boxers, his breath froze in his throat as Derek just barely dragged his fingers along the length of his shaft, skin to skin, and that alone was almost too much for Stiles to take.  "Oh,  _fuck_ ," he choked, and didn't resist as Derek pulled on his hips, rolling onto his side with bleary confusion that shattered when Derek slotted his body down against Stiles' back.  

Derek's arms wrapped around him.  One slid under his thigh, pulling his legs apart, and the other slipped into his underwear, teasing him with another slow stroke of fingertips against his cock.  He moaned, head falling back onto Derek's waiting shoulder.  Spooned up behind him, Derek could touch him everywhere, and he felt the rigid heat of Derek's erection pressing against his ass through both their boxers.  He thought he grocked Derek's plan now, and he demonstrated his enthusiastic approval by grinding his ass back against Derek's straining cock, earning a growl that reverberated through him and Derek's teeth nestling into the crook of his neck.

It was so easy to move together, natural, instinctive.  Derek pressed against him, his hand on Stiles' cock keeping Stiles' ass tucked snug against his crotch.  He mostly touched Stiles through his boxers but his fingertips kept wandering through the unbuttoned slit and under the waistband, and every skin-to-skin touch made Stiles shudder and moan, writhing in Derek's arms in rhythm with his slow, steady thrusts.  Derek didn't make nearly as much noise, but every soft groan and low growl of desire was muffled against Stiles' throat, rushing straight to his head, adding to the delirium of pleasure in which he'd lost himself.  His heart raced; Derek's throbbed powerfully against his back.  Clever fingers peeled the waist of his underwear down, exposing his cock-head, and he whimpered in nervous protest until Derek's palm cupped his balls and squeezed almost hard enough to hurt.  That wrenched a strained keen from Stiles and he arched hard against Derek's heat, imminent orgasm written in every taut muscle, every trembling line of his body.  Derek seemed close too - he was pressing Stiles back against him hard enough to bruise, breathing hot and heavy against his neck, pushing the hard ridge of his cock urgently against Stiles' upturned ass.  Stiles struggled to breathe deep, tried to relax - he wanted to wait, wanted to feel Derek cum before he hit his peak, but he quickly discovered that relaxing only made the pleasure bubble up faster.  It fused beneath his skin like plasma, like every inch of him was glowing, and for once in his life there were no words for the bliss he was feeling, or the need.  Even 'please' was useless; he lost the ability to beg.  One knowing, masterful squeeze to his shaft was all it took, and he fell hard over the edge, biting his own arm to muffle wet gasps and hitched sobs of pleasure as Derek relentlessly jerked him off through his orgasm.

Two in a day wasn't unusual for him.  Hell, even two in an hour he'd managed before and still been capable of rational thought.  Somehow this was different.  He'd never cum into his own hand like this, and he'd certain never imagined the hot fluid that was splattering against his lower back as Derek followed suite with an animal snarl.  He could  _feel_  Derek's cock throb against his ass in time with his heartbeat, he realized dimly as he fought to catch his breath.  His skin chilled as the dewey ropes of the werewolf's semen began to drip down the curve of his back, staining the already-stained mattress.  His stomach was similarly chilled - painted with his own cum, he realized, since Derek had pulled down his underwear to free his tip.  For a long moment, they just curled together, coming down from the high.  Then Derek stirred and kissed the back of Stiles' neck.  His fingers swept upward, and Stiles blushed as they dragged through the sticky droplets clinging to his abs.  He heard Derek draw in a slow breath - he wondered what it smelled like to him, the sharp scent of both their orgasms - and then Derek lifted his hand and slowly rubbed his cum-stained fingertips across his own mouth, which was hands-down the sexiest thing he'd done all day and almost too much for Stiles' already-blitzed mind to absorb.

"Oh my god," he whimpered as Derek sucked his fingers clean.  Derek raised his eyebrows and gave him a curious look, and Stiles exhaled slowly.  "You are way too sexy for your own good.  For MY own good.  For anybody's good."  Derek chuckled softly and tightened his arms around Stiles, burrowing into him like a beloved teddy bear and making it impossible for Stiles to squirm free of his grip.  "Um," Stiles murmured as Derek settled in.  "Shouldn't we, y'know, clean up or... or something?"

"Should you really be talking right now?" Derek shot back, and though his voice was muffled against Stiles back, there was no mistaking the edge in his tone.

"No," Stiles conceded immediately.  "No, of course not.  Point taken."  He snuggled back against Derek and earned an affectionate nuzzle.  Despite being half-naked and somewhat damp, the heat of Derek's body was more than enough to keep him comfortable, and the steady beat of his heart lulled Stiles faster than he'd thought possible.   _I'm sleeping with Derek Hale_ , he thought as he closed his eyes and started to drift.   _I'm_  sleeping  _with Derek Hale._

And then, just before he slipped into sleep,  _I'm going to need a shower SO bad._


	5. Chapter 5

The cruiser was in the driveway when Stiles snuck into his house, but given the hour, his dad was likely to be totally absorbed in work.  Normally Stiles would have been poking his nose into it, but right now he needed a shower… and a turtleneck.  He slipped in the front door carefully, easing it open, sliding his weight onto the wood so it wouldn’t betray him by creaking.  Back to the wall to stay out of line-of-sight from the kitchen, he took the long way around to the stairs, through the living room, and sat down on the third step – the steps could be prevented from squeaking if he went up and down them on his butt, he’d discovered in second grade.

Unfortunately luck was not with him; as he scooted up past the other kitchen doorway, he noticed that while the table was covered in paperwork, the chair was empty.  Above him, in the hallway, a toilet flushed.  Stiles rocketed to his feet and took the stairs in two jumps, but he was just swinging around the end of the banister when his father appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Stiles?” he called, and Stiles froze, turning slowly, popping his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he waggled his fingers at his father and tried not to look like he’d been trying to sneak in.

“Hey, Dad.  What’s up?”

His father glanced toward the door, then eyed him carefully as he began to descend the stairs.  “Little after curfew, isn’t it?”

“Well… well yeah,” Stiles stammered, struggling to spin a lie on the fly.  “I was… I was just over at Scott’s.  We’ve got this project, we sort of lost track of time.”  He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Scott’s,” his father repeated, and Stiles winced.

“Yeah.”

“You were at Scott’s.”

Stiles looked up at his father warily.  “Was I… not at Scott’s?” he asked, and the Sheriff gave him a dry look.

“Well, if you weren’t at Scott’s, that would explain why he called here three times looking for you.”

“Ohhhhhh.”  Stiles grabbed his phone.  “I didn’t get any… because my battery’s dead,” he quickly discovered, and laughed anxiously.  “That’s, um… wow.”  His father was eyeing him, and Stiles shrugged.  “I really don’t know what to say right now.”

“You could tell me where you actually were.”  Sheriff Stilinksi crossed his arms and shifted his weight.  He probably meant to be intimidating, but his expression was mostly concerned.  As Stiles groped for a better lie, he descended the rest of the stairs and reached out to grab his chin.  Stiles jerked back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dad,” he protested, self-consciously straightening the neck of his hoodie, hoping to cover the marks.  “Personal space.”

“Stiles.”

He stopped fidgeting and shoves his hands in his pocket with a defeated sigh.  This time, when his father tipped his chin back, he allowed it and just grimaced.

“Son… are you okay?  Is this… I honestly can’t tell if these are good marks or bad marks.  Help me out here.”

“I didn’t get beat up again if that’s what you’re asking,” Stiles allowed.  He swallowed hard, dodging the pressure of his father’s gaze, and added, “They’re good marks, Dad.  Honest.”

Sheriff Stilinski’s tone rang with disbelief.  “A girl did this?”  When Stiles hesitated, he went up a notch.  “A  _boy_?”

“Oh… god, Dad, please, can we not talk about my sex life?” Stiles pleaded.

“Do you  _have_  a sex life?”

“Well, geeze,” Stiles muttered.  “No need to sound totally incredulous, thanks a lot.”

“Well—no, I--!”  His father threw his hands up.  “It’s just that we never talked about this and now suddenly you’re… please tell me you used protection, at least….”

“DAD, oh my god, we didn’t even… look, there was no sex,” Stiles assured him.  “None, okay?  As much as it pains me to say it, I’m still a total virgin.”

“Well, yeah, but by the look of things there,” the Sheriff reasoned, gesturing toward his throat, “she, or he, is looking to get more than a little taste of you.  Probably just a matter of time, right?  And I know we’ve never actually had ‘The Talk’, but you know, kids these days, I guess I kind of figured there was no way to compete with whatever you’d see on the internet, but if it comes down to that, do you know what you’re doing?  Because I’m here for you.  As hideously awkward as that would be,” he added, “I’m your father, so it’s kind of my job.  Do you want to talk to me about anything?”

Stiles hesitated, then hedged, “okay, well, say  _hypothetically_ ….”

“Hypothetically,” his dad repeated.

“Right.   _Hypothetically_  if there was a boy.”

Sheriff Stilinksi paused, shaking his head in disbelief.  “What on earth would a gay boy see in you?  I’m sorry,” he added quickly at Stiles’ look.  “It’s just, I think that’s the third day in a row I’ve seen you wear that hoodie.”

“Wha—this is my  _team hoodie_ ,” Stiles snapped, plucking at it for emphasis.  “My lacrosse team hoodie.  I wear it all the time ‘cause of practice!”

“Well, yeah, but ideally you’d wash it after practice,” he pointed out, and Stiles huffed.

“Look, that’s not even the point.  If, hypothetically, there was a boy… do you really want to have that conversation?” Stiles demanded, and fixed his father with a glare of pure challenge, biting his lower lip as he waited for a response.

Sheriff Stilinski thought about that one, hedged, shifted, thought about it some more.  “Well,” he said finally.  “I’m not gonna claim to have any experience with this specific scenario, but generally there are things we probably should have talked about a long time ago.  Guess I was avoiding it,” he confessed, “which… was not very good parenting of me.”

“I know how to use a condom,” Stiles assured him, and Sheriff Stilinski sucked in a breath.

“Not really about that,” he hedged.  “More about… what a good relationship looks like.  What it means to really consent to something.  How to know when somebody isn’t treating you right.  Warning signs of abuse, things like that.  I know I’m just your Dad but I’m also the sheriff,” he reminded Stiles, “I’ve seen people hurt each other all kinds of ways and that’s not something I want for you, especially when you’re just starting out.  This, um…”  He motioned toward Stiles’ neck again.  “This guy.  Is he older?”

Stiles hesitated.  “Not… that… much… older.”

“Well, how much older is ‘that much’ older?  Because we do have statutory laws in this state.”

 _Oh, shit_ , Stiles thought, and shook his head frantically.  “No, nononono.  Dad, of course not.  Not like THAT.”

“Is it Danny?”  This question rendered Stiles speechless as his father considered that.  “Because I like Danny, he’s a good kid.  Never quite saw him with you, though,” he mused.

“Dad, no, it’s not Danny.”

“Scott?”  While Stiles choked, Sheriff Stilinksi shook his head.  “No, he’s your age.  Who is it?”

“Dad.”

“It had better not be Derek Hale,” he added with sudden vehemence, and Stiles blurted out, “It’s Isaac!”

There was a moment of silence.  Stiles tried hard to look honest, hoping his dad would buy it, and Sheriff Stilinski looked extremely dubious, thumbs in his waistband, head tilted as he tried to take the measure of his son.

“Isaac Lahey,” he said, at length.

“Yes.”  Stiles sighed heavily.  “Yes.  Isaac Lahey.”

“… You know he’s been in some trouble lately.”

“Yeah.”  Stiles’ hands flopped.  “It wasn’t his fault.”

“No, no, it wasn’t,” his father agreed.  “But… well, sit down, son.”  He motioned toward the kitchen, taking Stiles’ shoulder and steering him, and Stiles made a low whining noise as he was guided into a chair.  “Isaac… well, I think he’s a good kid.  Victim of circumstance.  The way his father treated him… you know about that?”

“Yeah, I know about that,” Stiles murmured.

“Right.”  A cooled cup of coffee sat at the Sheriff’s elbow and he began turning it between his hands.  “What Isaac’s been through, it isn’t his fault.  No kid should ever have to live like that.  God knows it can be frustrating being a parent,” he laughed humorlessly, “but your child is there for you to… to raise, and to love.  To hurt your son… I can’t imagine it.  Well, you know that.”  He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, and Stiles leapt from his seat to snatch the cup.  

“That’s cold, Dad,” he said quickly.  “Let me make you another one.”

The Sheriff let him go as Stiles dumped his coffee in the sink.  “Thanks.  What I’m saying is, the kind of sickness it takes to want to hurt your child the way Isaac Lahey was hurt is infectious.  When you treat a child that way it breaks them, son.  It creates a rage in them.”

 _You have no idea,_  Stiles thought, but he kept it to himself.

“And that rage can grow and sort of… re-spawn the disease.  Now, I’m not saying Isaac will become what his father was.  We all make our own choices.  But when someone tells you a thing is love when that thing hurts you and degrades you and diminishes you… it can be easy to get some pretty funny ideas about what love means.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles assured him, keeping his back to him.  “Yeah, yeah, I totally… I totally get that.  But, I mean, it’s really not that serious, Dad.”

“I understand.”  He held up a hand before Stiles could get on a roll.  “My point is… be careful around people who think love is pain.  Even if they don’t mean to, they can get the two mixed up.  And I just… I want you to be safe, all right?  And if you’re going to screw around, and I know how boys your age are, then just… make sure whoever you’re… you’re… ‘sharing yourself’ with is someone who values you.  Okay?  Even if it’s just as friends.  Someone who’ll treat you with respect and listen if you have concerns and wait if you want them to.”

Stiles turned finally and leaned back against the counter.  “That wasn’t bad,” he said, more solemnly than he meant to.  “Did you practice that?”

“No.”  His Dad offered him a chagrined smile.  “I probably should have.”

“No,” Stiles assured him.  “No, no, that was great, actually.  That was… thanks, Dad.  And we’re… I don’t know if this is a love thing,” he said carefully.  “Right now I think it’s just a… we really get each other thing.  And he’s shy and really doesn’t want people prying into his privacy so please don’t tell anybody, okay?” he pleaded, and his dad waved a hand in acquiescence.  “But, um, not to go TMI here, but this… this was totally okay with me,” he said and rubbed his neck.  “I was really into this, um, when it happened.  Kinda hurts now though.” He brought the fresh coffee over and set it on top of a case file.

His father laughed.  “Go upstairs and put something on it,” he advised.  “Hope you’ve got something to cover that up in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a turtleneck I was going to wear,” Stiles said, embarrassed.  “So are we done?”

“If you have any questions,” his father said, leveling a commanding finger at him, “you’ll come to me?  Concerns?  Anything?”

Stiles pressed his hands together.  “I totally swear.”

“Then we can be done.  Oh, and tell Isaac to have you home by curfew next time,” he added, taking a sip of his fresh coffee.

Stiles made finger-guns at him.  “Absolutely.”  He fled for the stairs, pausing to wince when his father yelled after him, “And bring him over for dinner sometime!”

Unfortunately the second floor was no safe haven.  He made it to his room and shut the door behind him, slumping against it only to jump three feet in the air and yell in an extremely unmanly way when Scott suddenly appeared and grabbed his hoodie.

“Dude, where have you been?” he demanded.  “I’ve been trying to call you all day, your phone is off, why the hell do you smell like DEREK?  Oh god,” he said, staggering backward, clapping a hand sheathed in his Beacon Hills lacrosse sweatshirt over his mouth.  His next words were muffled.  “Dude, you smell like sex.  Like Derek and sex.  Holy shit, Stiles, you didn’t have sex with Derek?!”

“Oh.  My.  God,” Stiles hissed.  “Will you shut up?  My Dad is downstairs!”

“Dude!” Scott protested, but in a whisper this time.  “What... how… WHY…?”  He was backing away, and Stiles reached out, grabbed his shoulders, and practically tossed him onto his bed, where he landed with his hands still over his nose.  “Please tell me I’m just smelling things wrong,” Scott begged him, and Stiles sighed and sat next to him.

“Look, can you just chill for a second?” he asked.  “Seriously, it’s… it’s not quite… we didn’t ac-tu-al-ly have… y’know.  Can I take a shower and then we can talk about this?” he pleaded, and Scott closed his eyes and buried his head in Stiles’ pillow.

“God, yes,” he groaned.  “Please take a shower.”

“Okay,”  Stiles grabbed clean pajamas and fled the room, closing the door behind him so his Dad wouldn’t wander in and see Scott.  He took a fast shower, scrubbing as hard as he could, soaping up three times in an effort to bury Derek’s scent under Irish Spring.  He brushed his teeth too, and cleansed his face – it made no difference on the moles, to his chagrin, but it helped with acne – and by the time he got back into his room Scott was huddled in his computer chair watching Stiles like he might suddenly decide to grow a second head and dance the cha-cha.

“I can still smell him on you,” Scott groused, and Stiles shook his head.

“Look, I did the best I could, man, give me a break.”  He flopped onto his bed and sighed.  “Are you gonna be weird about this?”

“WEIRD?  How can  _I_  be weird, Stiles?  You’re screwing Derek!  Don’t you guys hate each other?”

“Well.”  Stiles grimaced.  “It’s kind of a… hate/want thing… or maybe not, you know, I don’t actually think he hates me anymore,” he said, rolling over and propping himself on his elbow.  “Maybe he didn’t ever really hate me, maybe I’m mostly just… fragile and inconvenient.”

“Dude, pretty sure he hated you,” Scott muttered.  “And weren’t you the one who was always telling me not to trust him?”

“Yeah, I was also the one who treaded water for, like, two hours to save his paralyzed ass when the Kanima was hunting us!  Shit happened, Scott.”  Stiles threw his hands up.  “It happened.  Just… come to terms with it, okay, buddy?  Because I really don’t want to have to fight you on this of all things.  Look, I went there because he’s been struggling lately, okay?” Stiles explained.  “With the pack, and the whole thing with Jackson.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a dick, let him struggle!”

“Geez, Scott, come on,” Stiles coaxed.  “The guy’s been through hell.  Half of it he went through for you.  I’m not saying he’s a saint but….”

“Stiles, he didn’t hurt you, did he?” Scott interrupted, and Stiles realized he was staring at his throat with a very… inhuman… sort of look on his face.

“Why does everything think there’s no way I could possibly be willing to be chewed on?” Stiles wondered aloud, and Scott snorted.

“Because it’s Derek doing the chewing.”

“I’m FINE,” Stiles told him firmly.  “I’d give you details of exactly how ‘fine’ I am but you probably don’t want them, so please just take my word for it, okay?  I’m awesome, I’m fantastic, and if I didn’t have you and my dad giving me the third degree I’d be wonderful.  Relax.”  He folded his hands behind his neck and stretched.  “And he didn’t break any skin anywhere.”

“I know that,” Scott allowed, and leaned forward, those big brown puppy eyes of him looking concerned now.  “Stiles… I’m sorry, but are you sure about this?  It’s really… it’s DEREK.”  Scott ran a hand through his hair awkwardly.  “I mean, right now I almost want to do… I don’t know,  _something_  to get his scent off you.”

Stiles cracked an eye open.  “That’s a little possessive, don’t you think?”

Scott sighed.  “I know, it’s weird.  I don’t even like guys.  But I mean, you are my best friend.”

Stiles frowned.  “I’m still your best friend.”

“Yeah.  It’s just… I’m just worried he’s going to be a dick to you, or he’s going to get pissed at you and you’re gonna get hurt,” Scott confessed.  “And what if your Dad finds out?  Dude, he will hit the fan.  He’ll get his gun,” Scott said gravely.  “How old is Derek?”

“I… like, twenty… something?”  Stiles sighed.  “I don’t really care.”

“Yeah,” Scott said slowly, “but you should care.”

“Dude.  In all this craziness is that really your first concern?” Stiles pointed out.  “If I was thirty he’d be able to break me in half.  He’s a werewolf.  A werewolf whose saved your life, and mine, and whose life we’ve saved, and I’m actually really okay with this decision, okay?  He didn’t force or pressure me into anything.”  Stiles sighed and threw his arm across his eyes.  “I wanted him to kiss me.”

“Okay.”  Scott was massaging his forehead.  “Look, I won’t argue.  I think it’s totally weird but I’m not gonna argue with you.  But your Dad….”

“Yeah, well, I… kinda told my dad I was… dating Isaac Lahey,” Stiles mumbled.  Scott gawked at him.

“What?”

Stiles grimaced.  “Yeah, I know.”

“Dude, you can’t keep that up.  What if he asks Isaac?”

“Well, you’re going to have to back me up on this,” Stiles snapped.  “And I’ll just have to… I don’t know.”  His hand flopped.  “Prostrate myself at Isaac’s feet and beg him to be my fake boyfriend.  At least when my Dad is looking.”

“Isaac’s not a bad guy, but I don’t know,” Scott hedged.  “That’s kind of a big favor.”

“Well, can you help me convince him?” Stiles asked.  “He’s totally into you.  I’ll ask Derek too.  That way he can’t possibly say no.  I mean, this is about Derek’s safety, not mine, so much.  He’s gotta see the sense in that, and in my Dad not getting ripped apart because he tries to hunt Derek down with a shotgun.”  He pulled a pillow over his face.

Scott hesitated.  “I… I honestly don’t think Derek would hurt your dad.  I mean, how many times has he arrested him now?  He’s never done anything before.  He only went after Lydia because he thought she was the Kanima.  Derek doesn’t… usually go after just… regular human people.”

“Yeah.”  Stiles pulled the pillow away and smiled.  “Even when he acted like he hated me he was always trying to protect me, you ever notice that?”

“Dude!” Scott protested.  Stiles blinked.  “Come on… you don’t LIKE him do you?”

“…Well… do you think I would…  _y’know_ … if I didn’t?” Stiles asked, bewildered.

“Well, yeah, but… I mean… look, something just…” Scott gestured wildly.  “Happening is totally different from actually having a crush on someone.  Does he like you?”

“Oh my g-- what are we, in third grade?”  Stiles chucked his pillow at Scott’s head.

Scott batted it away.  “Look, I get that you slept with him.  It’s weird as hell, but obviously it happened.  But if you started, I don’t know, dating him, that would just be….”

“I didn’t  _sleep_  with him!” Stiles groaned, clapping his hands over his face.  “Okay, well, technically yes, I did, but it was actual sleep!  Not sex!  We didn’t even do that, so would you please stop freaking out?!”

“Okay, but answer the question!” Scott insisted.  “Are you into Derek?  Like, for real?”

Stiles groaned.  “Yeah, I think so,” he mumbled into his palms.

Scott exhaled sharply.  “Wow.  Just… wow.”

“I know.”

“Stiles…”

“Don’t say it.”

“No, I just… are you sure?” Scott’s voice cracked a little and Stiles let his head flop to the side so they could see each other.  “It’s Derek,” Scott said, as if that explained everything, and really, it kinda did, so Stiles just repeated it back.

“Yeah.  It’s Derek.  And that’s why… I didn’t think about him being older.  All the shit we’ve been through, he’s… geez.”  He sighed, watched Scott’s hands twist against each other between his knees.  “He’s pack.”

Scott’s hands froze.

Stiles looked up at him.  “Do you understand?  You know what I mean?”

“I…”  Scott rubbed a hand over his mouth.  “I… god, I think so.  I don’t know if I want to.  But you’re right.”

“Whether we like him or not, we’ve been through too much,” Stiles said, suddenly calm.  “He’s pack, Scott.  Totally.  He may not be your Alpha or my Alpha but he is our pack.  I don’t know how that works, it just does.  All the shit we’ve put him through?  We’ve gotten him arrested, what, twice?  Three times?  We made him a fugitive, we saved him from the Kanima, he saved you from Allison’s mom, I just think… when stuff like that happens it changes things.”

“Well, not legally,” Scott pointed out, and Stiles flailed his hands.

“Dude, since when is half the stuff we do legal?  Since never.  Lay off me about it.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll lay off.”  Scott’s mouth twisted cutely.  “It’s just weird to think about.  But you know I’ll cover for you.  Right?”

Stiles smiled and reached out for a fist-bump.  “Yeah, I know,” he assured Scott.  “Now I just have to talk Isaac into covering me.”

“You know,” Scott said thoughtfully, “let me talk to him.  I might be able to soften him up a little before you get to the begging.”  He smiled, and Stiles laughed.

“Yes.  You’re the best.”  Then, because he wanted to see the look on Scott’s face, he added, “Who knows, maybe sometime we can double-date.”

Scott’s expression of utter dread was everything Stiles hoped it would be.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day was beautiful and Scott didn’t have Lacrosse practice so he headed straight to the clinic.  Dr. Deaton put him on cage-cleaning duty for the dog kennels, and told him to wait for Isaac – if they double-teamed it, Isaac could exercise the dogs while Scott was cleaning and they’d all come back to clean cages.  If they got it out of the way fast, he told Scott, they might be able to sit in on two appointments in the evening.  This wasn’t terribly special for Scott, but Isaac was still new to the business and exploring his abilities, so he would jump at the chance.  Apparently, working at the veterinary clinic was much more fulfilling than working at the graveyard, though Scott wasn’t sure if Isaac had held onto that job in the wake of his father’s murder.

Scott had already taken care of their single post-surgery patient by the time Isaac showed up.  “I had to run by Derek’s house,” he told Dr. Deaton, who accepted this excuse readily.  It was nice, Scott mused, to have a boss who knew his secret and understood how a pack worked, and was willing to make allowances for the weirdness that followed them around.  Being a werewolf would have made it super-difficult to hold down a regular job, but he was actually getting pretty good at this one.

The kennel door swung shut behind Isaac, who’d brought in a collection of leashes.  They didn’t have too many boarders at the moment, and since he had superhuman strength on his side, Isaac usually walked all the dogs at once.  Their straining at the leashes didn’t bother him much, though a guy as skinny as he was should theoretically have been dragged off his feet.

“Hey,” Scott said before Isaac could start collecting the dogs, “Can I talk to you a minute?”

Isaac glanced up at him and smiled that heartbreaking smile.  “Let me guess.  This is about Derek and Stiles.”

Scott blinked.  “Derek told you?”  That didn’t particularly sound like Derek – he didn’t volunteer information in Scott’s experience.  Getting anything useful out of him was like pulling teeth.  Isaac just laughed.

“He doesn’t really need to.  The scent is all over the house.”  Isaac knelt and let a young retriever mix lick his fingers through the kennel door.  “The whole pack knows.  Erica actually walked in on them, but she wouldn’t give any details,” he added with a hint of mischief.

“Good,” Scott said emphatically.  “Nobody needs those details.  That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

“And your Alpha,” Isaac pointed out, and Scott sighed.

“He’s not my Alpha, and what he does on his own time is his own business.  I don’t want to hear about it.  I really don’t want to smell it, but it looks like I’m kind of SOL on that one,” he griped, and Isaac chuckled.

“Is it really so bad?” he asked Scott.  “I actually kind of took it as a good sign.  Derek’s got this lonely, wounded-wolf thing going on.  He snarls at anybody who tries to get too close which is actually kind of ironic because if he wants us to ever actually BE a pack he’s going to have to let us get close.  I don’t think it really works otherwise.”  Scott nodded thoughtfully, and Isaac continued, “If he’s going to let somebody get to him, it might as well be Stiles.  He’s practically pack anyway.”

“So that’s it?” Scott asked, dragging his bucket over to the sink to fill with hot water.  “It’s cool with you guys?”

Isaac shrugged.  “Sure.  Boyd says he can’t believe we didn’t all see it coming.  It’s like a ‘little red riding hood and the big bad wolf thing’,” he said, and when Scott threw him a puzzled look, he added, “the team hoodie.”

“Oh,” Scott said, then laughed.  “OH.  Huh.  That… I can’t believe I never noticed that before.”

“Well, they’re kind of pretty common around here,” Isaac pointed out magnanimously.  “Hard to see it as symbolism when half the guys in school are walking around in that hoodie.  Still, it was funny.  Boyd doesn’t crack a lot of jokes,” he mused, “but when he does, they’re pretty good.”

Scott grinned.  “I could see that.  So everybody’s okay with this except me?” he asked wistfully, and Isaac eyed him.

“Are you not okay with it?”  At Scott’s look, he added, “why?”

“Just…”  Scott sighed.  “Besides the part where Derek’s like six years older?”

Isaac blinked, then frowned.  “Oh.  Hm.”

“Yeah, OH.  I just… Derek and I didn’t really get off to the best start, and he’s never been nice to Stiles even though we’ve saved his life, like, a bunch of times.  Derek can handle his own shit, I just… I don’t want Stiles to get hurt.  And he’s really easy to hurt,” Scott added.  “He’s just human, and sometimes I think Derek’s so used to dealing with us as, like, a pair of people that he forgets Stiles isn’t a werewolf too.  He can’t just rip into Stiles the way he does to me.  I mean, he broke, like, all the bones in my hand once just to answer a question.”

“And he broke my arm in training,” Isaac said without ire.  “He’s a ‘teach through experience’ kind of guy.  Guess he figures it’ll sink in better that way.”

“Yeah, well, he’s really bad at it,” Scott bit off.

Isaac rose.  “I think that’s kind of subjective.  We’re doing okay.  We’re not progressing as fast as he’d like, but….”

“Isaac, I’ve taught you more than he has.  You’ve taught yourself more than he has.”

Isaac sighed.  “We learn together, Scott,” he said, his voice taking a slight edge.  “That’s the point of being pack.  That’s why Stiles is your pack – you learned with him.  How much about being a werewolf did you learn from a kind-of-nerdy human?” he asked with a faint smile.  “Derek was born a werewolf so he didn’t have to learn like this.  He’s impatient because he doesn’t actually know what it’s like to go through your whole life human and then be Turned.  And he’s trying to get his family back after he lost them, so he’s, like, emotionally invested.  You put all that together….”  Isaac shrugged and smiled.  “I think you two will work it out.  You’re too good a pack-mate to not keep.”

He tried not to let the sweetness of that statement touch him too deeply.  “Yeah, but that doesn’t go too far if I don’t acknowledge him as Alpha,” Scott pointed out, and Isaac tilted his head.

“Does there have to be only one Alpha?  Do we know that for sure?”

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “Why, did you hear differently?”

Isaac swung the leashes around his wrist as he considered that, then said, “I think there’s room for everybody to be who they are.  Derek has to relax and let it happen, but he’ll figure that out.  He just needs time when everything’s not totally going wrong,” he said thoughtfully, and Scott laughed.

“Yeah, well… good luck with that,” he snorted.  “Maybe if things start going right in his life, they’ll start going right in mine.”  Isaac joined him laughing softly, the leash clips jingling against each other as he moved to the doors.  “Oh,” Scott said, stopping him.  “God, I’m sorry.  That actually wasn’t what I needed to talk to you about, I kind of got distracted.”

“Sure,” Isaac chided, “but we’ve really got to get to work.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Scott said hastily, “but… about Derek and Stiles, there’s kind of another problem.”

Isaac’s eyes flicked to the side awkwardly.  “Is this really my business?”

“Well…”  Scott hedged, fidgeted, and finally said, “You’re not the only one who figured out Stiles almost got laid yesterday.  Derek kind of….”  He made fumbling motions at his neck.  “… Left some… you know.”

Isaac grinned.  “That explains the turtleneck,” he joked, and Scott hissed.

“Dude, his dad saw!  And we’re not eighteen and he’s the sheriff, remember?”

He sobered.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  So….”  Scott rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing.  “So when he started asking questions, Stiles kind of told him….”

When Scott didn’t finish the sentence for several long seconds, Isaac prompted him gently, “What did he tell him?”

Scott exhaled sharply.  “Hetoldhimhewasdatingyou,” he said all in a rush, then hastily added, “I’m sorry.  HE’S sorry.  He panicked.  He didn’t want his Dad going on the war path, I mean, the guy carries a gun and he’s already arrested Derek a few times because me and Stiles got him in trouble.”

“So… he said he and  **I**  were going out?” Isaac repeated, incredulous but amused, and Scott began to hope that this whole thing wouldn’t blow up in his face.

“Yeah,” he sighed.  “Look, his dad started asking questions about who it was and Stiles had to think of something.  I guess he thought of you.”

“Huh.”  Isaac tilted his head.  “I wonder if I should be flattered.”

“Well…”  Scott bounced in place nervously.  “We were kind of hoping you’d back him up.  You know… because a gun-wielding sheriff with a personal vendetta probably isn’t something Derek needs right now, or ever.  And Stiles really doesn’t want to risk his dad getting killed because he went after a werewolf Alpha.  I know that’s a lot to ask,” he said quickly when Isaac opened his mouth.  He held his hands up in plaintive supplication.  “And I know we got you in trouble before, but you know it won’t happen again, and can you please, please, super-please do us this favor?”

Isaac gave him a keen look.  “Well, it’s really a favor to Stiles,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Scott turned big brown eyes on him.  “What hurts Stiles hurts me.”  

Isaac’s mouth thinned as he thought it over, twisting the nylon leashes idly in his hands while Scott waited with barely concealed impatience.

“Well?” he asked softly.  “Come on, man.  How bad could it be?  And who knows, if Stiles is as good a teacher as you think he is, maybe you two could find a way for him to pay you back.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the wicked smile that spread across Isaac’s face then, but Isaac contained it quickly and gave a modest nod.  “Okay, fine.  Since it seems like it’s in everybody’s best interests.  He owes me,” he pointed out as he opened the cage and let the dog wiggle its way out to fawn on him.

“We both owe you,” Scott promised, clapping his hands together.  “Thank you SO much.  Seriously, you’re saving our butts here.”

Isaac clipped the leash onto the dog’s collar and moved to the next cage.  “We should really get to work,” he chided Scott gently, and Scott startled into action.

“Right, yeah, of course.  Thank you,” he added again, and Isaac laughed.  It was a strange deception, Scott thought as he added cleaning solution to the water, and there was no telling how long they could keep it up, but every month, or even year, that they could put off Sheriff Stilinski finding out was a month or a year they didn’t have to live in dread of a shoot-out between Beacon Hills’ Sheriff Department and Beacon Hills’ Wolf pack.


	7. Chapter 7

Because they hadn’t had practice that day, and he was incredibly nervous about Scott getting the chance to talk to Isaac, Stiles went on a long run after school.  He was severely tempted to swing out toward the woods, maybe stop in, see Derek, check if he still had ideas about sucking him off… he resisted temptation, though, because he was pretty sure that if he kept walking into Derek’s house every time he got horny he would become an even worse annoyance than he already was.  And he didn’t want Derek to regret starting this, because Stiles absolutely didn’t regret it.  Regret was the farthest possible thing from how he felt about it.

So instead of checking in on Derek, he looped around and went home, took another shower, and settled down to do some homework.  Downstairs he knew his father was investigating more Argent family drama, probably Gerard’s disappearance, and while he was curious, he felt like he desperately needed a night of relative normalcy.  His grades certainly could stand some attention – while he wasn’t in dangerous territory, Scott was failing.  Stiles mused he should probably get Scott over to study more often, but that almost always turned into video games and junk food because despite his best intentions, when his best friend was around, Stiles couldn’t focus on schoolwork.  He figured it was a good indicator of how much craziness had been going on in their lives when his Dad, who had clearly seen him walk in the door and heard him running the shower, still called, “Stiles?  Are you home?” before telling him dinner was ready.  Not his dad’s fault – he used the window so often to come and go that he was thinking of installing a ladder.

Dinner was a big tray of frozen chicken alfredo that was clearly meant for a family bigger than two people.  They barely managed to put away half of the starchy noodles in thick sauce before his dad called it quits, and Stiles excused himself, mentioning homework, and trudged back up the stairs feeling forty pounds heavier.  He closed his bedroom door and slumped against it, then let out a scream when Isaac Lahey suddenly stood up from his corner chair.

“AAAAAGH!” he yelled, body thumping back against the door, then he hissed, “dude, what the hell?  You scared the shit out of me, holy god….”  Stiles rubbed his hands over his face.  “I’ve got to get rid of that freakin’ chair.  Every time I come in, there’s a werewolf in it!”

“I’m sorry,” Isaac said, and even though he was laughing, he sounded sincere.  “I thought you’d be expecting me.”

“I’m half expecting you to kick my ass,” Stiles confessed, and Isaac chuckled again.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” he assured him.  “Scott talked to me.  I’ll cover for you,” he said with a warmth that confused Stiles for a moment, but then he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Oh,” he sighed, relieved.  “Dude, that is SO great.  I can’t even tell you how much you’re saving my ass right now.”

“That’s okay, Scott already did.  Is it… is this okay?”  He took half a step toward the chair, and Stiles was momentarily flummoxed before he realized Isaac was asking to stay and hang out.

“Sure!” he blurted out, “Yeah, oh, yeah, by all means.  Please.”

“Okay.”  His flailing seemed to amuse Isaac, who settled back into the chair.  “Thanks.”

“Yeah, totally, I just… I guess I’m kind of confused.  If you’re not here to kick my butt then why are you here?”  Stiles sat down on the bed, bouncing a little, watching Isaac in clear bewilderment, but Isaac just gave a modest shrug.

“Well, it seemed like the kind of thing a boyfriend would do,” he said, and Stiles pressed a hand over his mouth in chagrin, remembering the several times Derek had snuck through his window and waited for him in that same chair.  “Plus, we actually have that chemistry project still.  I know things have been crazy, but it’s kind of due Wednesday, soooo….”

“So, you were thinking we could do something weird and unexpected like… actually finishing our schoolwork?” Stiles ascertained, and Isaac grinned.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to keep up with school when you’re a werewolf, I’m noticing,” Stiles quipped, and Isaac raised an eyebrow.

“And a stint in a holding cell, running from the sheriff, doesn’t help,” he added and Stiles winced.

“Yeah, sorry about that.  But you know what we should do?”  Inspiration was clearly dawning, because he stood up and started talking with his hands.  “We should be a study group.  All of us.  No, seriously!” he said, at Isaac’s look of dubious reserve.  “Look, it’s  _hard_  being a werewolf and keeping your grades up.  You know if Scott doesn’t pull it together in a big way he’s going to have to repeat?”

Isaac looked taken-aback.  “Really?”

“Yah, really.  And you’ve missed a few days lately and Erica’s been blowing off.  I think the only person whose attendance record and grades are still intact is Boyd.  Even Jackson and Lydia are slipping because of all the… you know,  _stuff_ , though I’m not saying we should invite them.  Well, maybe Lydia,” he allowed.  “But since Jackson’s a full wolf now he’s going to have full moon problems too.  And we have to think about our futures,” he told Isaac passionately, “we’re not going to be high-schoolers forever and as far as I know you can’t put ‘creature of the night’ on a job application.  If we completely just… just TANK right now, we could still be messing up our futures.  Were you planning to go to college?” he asked, but Isaac, who was watching in fascination while he rambled, just rolled one shoulder in response.  “Right,” Stiles said, un-phased, “well, if you plan to go to college, and I know I plan to go to college, and Scott better go to college ‘cause if he tries to go through his life with nothing but a high school diploma Allison’s never going to take him back, we have to fix this.  So maybe we should be helping each other.  We have a lot of the same classes,” he reasoned.  “We’re on the team together, and Coach Finstock is, like, going out of his mind trying to keep our grades from getting us kicked off the team.  Well, not my grades, mostly Scott’s grades, but Jackson’s been erratic too and then there’s you and now Boyd’s playing… holy hell, we’re going to state,” Stiles said, abruptly distracted.  “We’ve got a team full of werewolves and we’re going to state, we’re going to KILL oh my god!” he growled, pumping his fist.  “YES.”

“Well, yeah,” Isaac agreed, “if by ‘kill’ you mean ‘we might actually kill someone’.”

Stiles brushed that off.  “Naw, we’ll practice, you’ll be fine.  Hey, I taught Scott how to keep a lid on his wolf-blitz thing in one day.  What do you wanna bet I can do the same for the rest of you.  Huh?  HUH?”  He was grinning, and clicked his tongue, pointing at Isaac and nodding suggestively.  “We’re gonna work this thing out.  It’s gonna be  _awesome_.”

Isaac thought about that for a minute, then nodded slowly.  “Okay,” he said.

Stiles blinked.  “Okay?”

He shrugged.  “Okay.  I’ll talk to Erica and Boyd.  Tomorrow after practice, you and Scott and us, we’ll start working on it.  If that’s okay with you.  I don’t work tomorrow.”

Stiles’ mouth twisted.  “I… think Scott works tomorrow.  But we could do it without him.”  When Isaac nodded, Stiles added, “My training, um… it’s kind of a pain thing.  So do you think you guys can refrain from killing me?  Since that would kind of defeat the whole point?”

“We’re used to the pain thing,” Isaac assured him.  “And we keep a lid on each other.  Besides, we want to try your way,” he said with a degree of honesty that made Stiles feel flushed all of a sudden.

“Right,” he agreed.  “Cool.  You want to try my way.  So… did you actually bring your chemistry stuff?”

Isaac pulled his backpack out from under the chair and Stiles dug his textbook out of the pile, ready to dig in, when suddenly there was a knock on the door.  They both froze, and then Isaac, wide-eyed, motioned to the window and whispered, “Should I--?” but before Stiles could answer, his Dad opened the door and stuck his head in.

Stiles just stared at him for a moment, then lifted his fingers and waggled them.  “Dad.  Hey.  Something up?”  He failed at sounding innocent, but his Dad didn’t look upset.

“Isaac,” he said in welcoming tones.  “Sorry, I figured it’d be Scott sneaking through my windows at all hours.  Have you eaten?  We just had dinner, there’s plenty left over.”

“I…?”  Isaac’s hesitation made Stiles realize he probably hadn’t eaten, and he wondered who was taking care of him since his dad’s death.  Was it just Derek?  Was he trying to go it alone?  Did he live with Erica now, or Boyd?

Perhaps sensing that Isaac needed to be coaxed, Sheriff Stilinksi pushed the door the rest of the way open.  “It’s chicken alfredo.  Frozen,” he admitted, “but it’s not bad.  It’s still warm, why don’t you boys bring your homework downstairs and I’ll fix you a plate?”

“Um…”  Isaac threw an uncertain glance at Stiles, who jerked his head in the direction of the door.

“Come on,” he said, picking up his textbook and clapping Isaac on the shoulder.  “Have a little bit of Stilinski House hospitality.  And if you’re lucky,” he added as they followed his father downstairs, Isaac trailing his backpack behind him like a toddler on his first day of school, “you might get to watch a genius at work.  This may look like a normal house to you but it also doubles as Beacon Hills Crime-Solving Central.”

“Stiles,” his dad warned, but he sounded flattered none the less, and Stiles grinned.

True to his promise, his Dad put the alfredo back in the oven on low heat for about ten minutes and got them both cokes while they waited.  He swept his files off the table, ignoring Stiles disappointed whine, and settled across from them to poke with parental interest at their chemistry textbooks.  “So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” he asked, and after a brief hesitation, Isaac answered.

“It’s.. about moles,” he said tentatively, his eyes flicking back to Stiles every other word as if he expected to be rescued.  “Not the animal, the unit of measurement.  See, Mr. Harris gave us these tables, and we’re supposed to sort the different elements by weight and then extrapolate the weight units of complex molecules and label them on this sheet here….”

“It’s not hard,” Stiles cut in, and Sheriff Stilinski shot him an incredulous look.

“Not hard?”  He took Isaac’s sheet of model molecules, looked at it, flipped it upside-down, and said, “Is this Greek?  It looks like Greek.”

Stiles winced.  “No, Dad,” he said gently, reaching over and retrieving Isaac’s paper.  “That’s helium.”

“Well, obviously you’d know more than I would,” he allowed then turned to Isaac.  “So, Isaac, are you all right at chemistry?  Do you like your teacher?”

Isaac shrugged, and Stiles muttered, “That’s Mr. Harris, dad.  Remember?”

“Oh.”  Sheriff Stilinski paused to recall that he had investigated Adrian the previous year.  “That’s right.”

Then, without prompting, Isaac piped up, “Chemistry’s fine, but I’m not a fan of Mr. Harris.”

“Oh, really.”  Mr. Stilinski had his own reasons to dislike Adrian Harris, but he tried very hard to look neutral and solicitous.  “Why’s that?”

“He’s a jerk to Stiles.”

Stiles blinked – that was the last thing he’d expected Isaac to say, but Isaac was apparently warming to his part, because he went on.

“He might just be a jerk in general but he singles out Stiles.”

A thunderous look was coming over his father’s face, but he still tried mightily to sound calm.  “Really.”

Isaac gave him an earnest nod.  “He’s always calling him stupid, which is just… ridiculous.  Everybody knows Stiles and Lydia Martin are the smartest in our class.  I mean, that’s why I’m here.”  He turned that sweet, hesitant smile on Stiles’ Dad and suddenly Stiles knew exactly what he was doing and he couldn’t close his mouth because holy shit, Isaac had depths he hadn’t anticipated.  He was  _playing the part_  and he was doing it like a master and Stiles’ dad was eating out of the palm of his hand.  “It’s not just ‘cause I like him,” Isaac said, somehow managing to affect the slightest hint of an embarrassed blush.  “It’s ‘cause he’s probably the only person I know who could actually make this make sense.”

The Sheriff managed a smile, but he turned a pointed look on Stiles.  “He’s calling you stupid?”

Stiles spluttered.  “Yeah, well….”

Isaac squirmed.  “Not, like, directly,” he amended, “but it’s like… you know how people can say things like, ‘I have certainly experienced infinite stupidity’ and then they LOOK at you, and you know what they mean?  It’s like that.”

As his father continued to stare at him, Stiles broke down.  “Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh.  “That’s more or less exactly what he did.  When I was in detention with him he implied it was ‘cause of how you went after him before,” he confessed.  “Dad, you don’t have to make a big deal….”

“No, I think I certainly do have to make a big deal,” Sheriff Stilinski said angrily.  “Singling kids out for what their parents do is not only unprofessional, it’s harmful.  Now, I’ve had issues with Adrian in the past that I was keeping to myself but I’m beginning to think someone higher up the chain ought to know about this.”

“It won’t help,” Isaac put in, looking apologetic.  When Sheriff Stilinski paused, Isaac told him, “teachers have unions.  I know ‘cause of my dad.  Usually that’s a good thing, but when it comes to firing someone who’s just… I don’t know, terrible… sometimes it makes it tough. He used to talk about that all the time.  It’s not like he’s doing anything criminal, so you probably won’t have any luck.  It’ll be okay,” he added, obviously trying to be helpful.  “Chemistry is just this year and then you,” he said to Stiles, “are probably gonna take AP courses right?  They’re taught at the community college, you won’t have to worry about Mr. Harris.”

“Yeah, I have a couple AP courses already,” Stiles told him, and his Dad sat back, taking a breath and adjusting his belt in a way that Stiles was intimately familiar with.  Isaac flinched a little, though, which ruined the familiarity, and Sheriff Stilinski immediately took his hands off his belt and set them on the table, clearing his throat.

“Well.  I’ll have a talk with Mr. Harris,” he said, seemingly mollified for the moment.  “You just get yourself, and Scott, and Isaac,” he added as an afterthought, “through this year.”

Stiles gave his father a thumbs-up.  “That’s the plan.”

Isaac, again speaking unbidden, said, “Actually we were kind of thinking of getting together a study group?  Like me and Stiles and Scott and maybe Boyd and Erica.  This year’s been kind of hard on some of us,” he said, “but Stiles has been a really big help.”

Sheriff Stilinski turned a penetrating look on Isaac.  “He’s pretty great, huh?” he said casually, and Isaac, still in-character, gave a knowing laugh.

“Yeah,” he said enthusiastically, then seemed to realize he’d been duped, shut his mouth with a snap, and became very interested in his homework.  Sheriff Stilinski looked like the post-canary cat, and Stiles sat in awe of how easy it was to pull one over on his Dad.

“Uh-huh.”  He glanced at Stiles, and Stiles just rubbed the back of his neck and tried to look innocent.  “Welp.  I have to say it’s actually… very encouraging to hear you kids trying to take some initiative to get it together after all this.  You know a study group is not an excuse to date,” he warned Stiles, who held his hands up.

“I swear that’s not my motivation.  If it was, Lydia would be coming,” Stiles promised him, but Isaac elbowed him.

“I was gonna try to get Lydia,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth, and Stiles gawked.

“What?”

“She’s smart too!” Isaac hissed, and they both looked guiltily at Stiles’ dad, who gave them a dry look in return.  “And she takes AP classes,” Isaac murmured.

“Well.”  Sheriff Stilinski looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh at the two of them.  “If and when you do get your little group together, I want you down here in the living room so I know you’re not playing video games or making out or whatever it is teenagers do these days when they’re pretending to study.” 

Stiles slumped dramatically.  “Da-ad!”

“We’ll behave, sir,” Isaac assured him with a faint smile, then hastily corrected himself.  “Sheriff.”

Stiles’ Dad smiled gently at him.  “Mr. Stilinski’ is fine,” he assured Isaac, then paused.  “Actually that’s longer.  You know?  Call me whatever you want.  I’ve got some work to get done,” he added, pushing his chair back and ruffling Stiles’ short hair as he got up.  “When you’re done with your chemistry you can hang out, but leave the door open, and not too late; it’s a school night.”

“Got it,” Stiles groused.  “Thanks.”

Sheriff Stilinski waggled his fingers.  “Isaac,” he called, and when he had his attention, “good to meet you again under better circumstances.”

Isaac broke into a smile that seemed to shed sunlight, shy and genuine, and said, “Me too, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles flopped back in his chair, letting his head hang over the back support, and said, “That went well.”

But now that Isaac no longer had to pretend to like him, there was a look in his eyes that was deeply unsettling – grieved, wistful, and heartbroken all at once.  Stiles let him sit for a moment, then prodded him gently.

“Hey.  You okay?”

But all Isaac would say was, “Your dad’s nice,” before digging back into his chemistry worksheet.

X-X-X

By the time Isaac sauntered back into their underground wolf den, it was very late and he had a week’s worth of back-homework done.  He’d caved to Stiles’ questions and his insistence that he could regain a few points even if he turned in assignments late, and a few was better than nothing, and together they’d knocked out two essays and a math worksheet that had been lingering on his syllabus.  It was odd – Stiles seemed to genuinely enjoy helping him, and Isaac wondered why he wasn’t making money tutoring.  He did have a tendency to babble, but he also came up with adorable, geeky examples and metaphors that made concepts easier and lengthy equations seem less daunting.  Maybe he just didn’t have enough respect from the student body to set himself up as an academic authority, but Isaac found the time went by faster, and the work got done much more easily, when Stiles was at his elbow.

He’d been expecting the den to be empty, so he was surprised to find Derek there doing what looked like some heavy cleaning.  He’d moved a lot of the junk and detritus out, sorted what was left into piles of dubious use, and was in the process of trying to sweep up the dust with a big flat-bristle broom.  When Isaac stepped down, he said, “Where were you?”

“Keeping an eye on Stiles,” Isaac said, figuring that was a reason Derek would respect.  But Derek just looked confused.

“Why, is he in some kind of trouble?”

Isaac shrugged.  “Actually,” he said, walking over and taking the broom from Derek, “it’s kind of a funny story.”

Derek looked suspicious.  “Uh-huh.”

“You’ve gotta be more careful about marking your territory, man,” Isaac advised him, and when Derek didn’t comprehend, he said, “the hickies?  Seriously?”

Derek’s mouth tightened and he looked away – it wasn’t a guilty look, per se, but it was as close as he got.

“Yeah,” Isaac said dryly, “well, the Sheriff noticed somebody’d been treating his son like a chew toy.  He was asking questions.  And apparently your boyfriend’s kind of a dumbass when it comes to coming up with convincing lies, because he told him WE were dating.”

Derek blinked.  “We--?”

“Me and Stiles.”

Derek blinked again, then again.  “… Why…?”

“Because I’m the same age as him, duh,” Isaac scolded.  “I’m not a statutory risk!”  Derek grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face and Isaac laughed dryly.  “Yeah, you didn’t think about that, did you?  Anyway, it’s cool.  I actually have all my homework done for the first time in a while and tomorrow, we’re all gonna do a werewolf training thing after practice.”

“You’re doing a ‘werewolf training thing’,” Derek repeated flatly.  “With Stiles.”  

Isaac raised his eyebrows in challenge.  “He got Scott through it,” he pointed out.  “It’s just a few control exercises.  I’m gonna grab Erica and Boyd and see how it goes.  He already promised to help us study,” he added.  “We need it.  You know we’re falling behind.  And if you’re gonna keep him around as a mate, or whatever he is, why not let him help?”

Derek’s teeth ground hard enough that Isaac probably could have heard them without enhanced senses, and he said tightly, “Dealing with Scott is one thing.  The three of you together is higher risk.  If one of you loses it, you could kill him.”

“Sure,” Isaac said casually, “I guess that’s true.  So why don’t you come?” 

That clearly hadn’t been the response Derek expected, because he hesitated and said, “… What?”

“Come supervise.”  Isaac started sweeping in slow, even strokes.  “And I don’t mean ‘make fun of everything Stiles does’ because you know that will just throw him off his game.  Just sit in the stands, or wherever, and keep an eye on things.  Then everybody will be safe, you’ll know where we all are, we’ll get some pack bonding time… there’s no down-side to that.  And then we’ll go to Stiles’ house and do our homework and you can rest easy knowing all your pups are being supervised and doing exactly what they ought to be doing.”

Derek’s jaw worked thoughtfully, and finally he said, “I’ll be there tomorrow.  It’s a test run.  If things get out of hand, that’s the end of this.”

“It’ll be after practice,” Isaac told him mildly as he gently pushed the dust over the edge of the stone lip.  “I’d say you should come for practice but you don’t want to be seen hanging around Stiles too much.”  From the look on Derek’s face, he knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn’t resist one more jab.  “And I’m pretending to be his boyfriend now, so his dad doesn’t get suspicious.  So don’t rip my throat out,” he said as a low, rumbling growl issued from Derek’s chest.  “It’s not for real, it’s just to keep his father from coming after you with a twelve-gauge.”  Derek’s eyes were glowing faintly, but he looked mutinously resigned, so Isaac paused and leaned on his broom.  “Why can’t you share?” he asked bluntly.  “Erica and I would share, if he was hers, or mine.  We’d share with Boyd if he liked guys.  The Alpha’s territory is pack territory, isn’t it?”

“What you and Erica would do is completely irrelevant,” Derek growled.  “Wolves keep to mated pairs.”

“And werewolves?”

“Werewolves are people,” Derek told him with sharp-edged precision, “we exhibit variety, but the wolf’s instincts tend to push toward a mated pair-bond for the sake of pack stability.  I’m not a ‘sharing’ kind of guy, so you and Erica and, should anything change, Boyd, will keep your paws off Stiles or I’ll cut them off.  We understand each other?”

“We kind of think you’ve got a stick up your ass,” Isaac sassed, and when Derek growled, he folded in on himself a little bit, using a display of submissive body language to head off his anger.  “We understand.”

His upper lip curled.  “Good.”  Conversation over, Derek stalked away to vent his irritation on the piles of junk lying around, and Isaac went back to his sweeping.


	8. (NC-17)

A fine mist fell from the sky, soaking through team jerseys and making the pads slick.  It wasn’t muddy, per se, but practice was still a grass-stained affair, and it was possible the boys checked each other far more than necessary out of weather-induced irritation.  Coach Finstock loved their aggression, but made them run wind-sprints anyway, so Stiles was gasping when he slumped on the bench to guzzle a bottle of Gatorade and mop the mix of sweat and congealed fog off his head.  Isaac, who was barely winded, plopped down next to him, grinning – he seemed to be drinking in the team camaraderie and Stiles was glad for him, that in the wake of losing a parent he was at least gaining strength and making friends.  Erica, who’d been sitting in the stands above them watching them scrimmage, descended to sit on the bench right behind them.  With Scott at his other side and Boyd climbing the steps to sit by Erica, Stiles was completely surrounded  by werewolves.  A sane man, he mused, probably would have been freaking out right about then, but he just felt… protected.  Insulated.  Though none of them were actually sporting fur, he felt like their presence fended off the rain.

Unfortunately it did not fend off Jackson.  He’d been particularly intrusive all practice, but he hadn’t turned his attention on Stiles.  Now that he saw Stiles surrounded by the pack he was supposed to belong to, chatting idly with Boyd over his shoulder with Isaac’s hip pressed against his and Erica teasing him about the water droplets that clung to his short-cropped hair, he wandered over, his body language a muted challenge, eyeing the group with barely-concealed avarice.

“Looks like the gang’s all here,” he said with deceptive lightness, and behind Stiles, Erica snorted.  He supposed she found Jackson’s attempts at socialization laughably transparent because Stiles did too, but he also felt kind of bad for Jackson, which was weird, because Jackson had Lydia back, and that alone made him the luckiest man on the planet.

Wait, speaking of… where was Lydia?  Stiles twisted to look for her – normally she came to practice and did some homework in the stands.  She would typically be there with Allison, but neither girl had shown up today or, now that he thought about it, at their last practice.  Distracted, he didn’t hear Boyd’s answer to Jackson’s greeting, and missed Scott challenging the other wolf’s presence.

“Who are you looking for?” Erica whispered while the conversation went on around them, and Stiles replied, “Have you seen Allison?  Or Lydia?”

Erica’s full mouth pursed, but to her credit she looked genuinely concerned, even if it was only a little.  “I dunno.  They were in class so they’re not sick.  I guess maybe with everything that’s happened they may not be feeling like sitting out here in the rain.”

“But I thought Lydia and Jackson were, like, everything’s cool now,” Stiles murmured, and then a hand on his shoulder jerked him back around.

“You’re saying what about my girlfriend?” Jackson snarled in his face, but then he was shoved back as Isaac rippled to his feet and smacked him hard in the chest, and Scott was on his feet snarling, and even Boyd towered behind Stiles, neither growling nor snarling nor flexing his claws, but then again Boyd didn’t have to do any of that to be intimidating; his shoulder-span did it for him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoawhoawhoa, guys,” Stiles said, rising slowly and extending his hands, taking Isaac and Scott by the wrists in hopes of placating them.  “Let’s just all calm down.  Remember what we’re working on today?”

“We’re not doing your exercises yet, Stiles,” Isaac growled, and Stiles squeezed his wrist hard.

“I know,” he said quickly. “But this is good practice.  Guys, we’re all in this together now, okay?  Let’s not just rip into each other.”  Isaac hesitated, still showing Jackson his teeth, but his wrist twisted in Stiles’ grip, and when Stiles relaxed a little bit, Isaac’s hand crept into his and laced their fingers together.

Jackson noticed immediately.  “Oh,” he said, eyeing their entwined hands with sardonic disgust.  “Is that a thing now?”

Isaac lifted his chin.  “Let’s just say Lydia’s all yours,” he answered, and Stiles opened his mouth, then shut it, letting out a soft whimper of dismay but otherwise holding his peace.  Jackson eyed him, then Isaac.

“Uh-huh,” he said dubiously.  “Sure.  Well, if that’s where you want to go with it, I’m the last person who’s gonna stop you, Lahey.  Of course, I kind of question your taste.”

“HEY.”  Scott was between them now, eyes gleaming gold, teeth extended.  “You got a problem?  Take it up with me.”

Jackson shifted back and shrugged innocently.  “No problem, McCall,” he demurred.  “But since I’m a full member of your little wolf club now, I figured I’d join in the meeting.  So what are we doing?” he asked with crisp, false cheerfulness.  “Something fun?”

“Nope!” Stiles chirped, trying to ignore the way Isaac kept shouldering him back, protectively staying between him and Jackson.  “Nope, no, nothing going on, just… having a little… you know, a chat.”

Jackson stared at him for a moment, then said, “You are the worst liar, Stilinski.”

“Just leave him alone, Jackson,” Scott said, his voice low and even, but still bristling.  Stiles glanced around the field – just about everyone had already left, but there was still at least one witness to this little display: Danny hovered at the opposite end of the bleacher stands, waiting for Jackson and frowning in their direction.  Scott continued, “You got what you wanted.”

Jackson shook his head.  “No,” he said in a patronizing tone, “not exactly.  See, this wolf thing, it’s a package deal, right?  You don’t just get to turn me and then toss me out on my own.  I’m one of you now,” he said emphatically, “I’m in the pack.  But since you were all too busy to come to me, I figured I’d come to you.”  He rolled his shoulders and gave Scott a tight, superior smile.  “So? What’s on this evening’s exciting werewolf agenda?  I’m not going away,” he added when Scott and Isaac exchanged a dubious look.  “You can’t just run me off like some little friendless loser.”

“So, let him stay.”  This was Boyd, stepping heavily down from the bleachers to join them on the field.  He shrugged, creating a circle as he stood between Scott and Jackson, but somehow his presence there lessened the tension instead of aggravating it.  When Scott started to protest, Boyd said firmly, “He needs to learn the same things we do – familiarity, control, how to anchor himself.  What, you want him running around out of control, causing havoc?”  Jackson didn’t seem pleased by this unflattering prediction, but Boyd ignored the venomous look he shot him.  “Derek gave him the bite, so he meant him to be part of the pack.  Whether he sticks around is his choice but right now, I say if he wants to be taught, teach him.  Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he added to Scott, who cursed and shifted his weight anxiously.

“Stiles,” Scott said, apologetic, “I’ve got to go….”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” Stiles assured him, though he believed nothing of the sort.  “Go ahead, I’ll just… hold down the fort here.”  He tried to wave, found his hand still captive to Isaac’s , quickly switched, realized he looked awkward, and shoved his free hand in his pocket.

“We’ll look after Stiles,” Isaac promised solemnly, and when Scott still seemed hesitant, Isaac nodded toward the edge of the woods.  “And so will he.”  Stiles peeked around Isaac’s body… Derek Hale stood at the edge of the tree line, walking slowly toward them, his expression thunderous.  Then again, Derek normally looked put-out and on the edge of violence, so maybe that was just his resting face.

Scott sighed and relented.  “Okay.  Jackson….”

“We’ll be fine, McCall,” Jackson told him smugly.  “One big, happy family.  Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the family  _pet_  gets back to you in one piece.”

Scott exhaled through his teeth, but he  turned anyway and jogged toward the parking lot.  Stiles watched his retreating back with dismay, reminding himself that between Isaac and Derek, Jackson wouldn’t get the chance to rip his throat out.  Of course, he also knew how fast werewolves were, but he tried not to think about that.  Isaac let him go when he yanked persistently enough on his hand, and he went to unzip his bag.  Erica, still seated and twirling her hair around her finger, leaned forward to peek curiously at what he was rummaging through.  

“This is a heart monitor,” Stiles told her as he pulled out the slightly-battered display and its frayed strap.  “It’s Coach Finstock’s, I’ve borrowed it before to teach Scott.  This monitor,” he said, extracting the handheld, “shows me your heart rate.”  He felt another presence looming over him, figured it was Boyd, and said, “Basically what I’m going to do is strap this on you and whip lacrosse balls at you until you’re really pissed off at me and then see if you can dial it back on your own.  But before you can do that you have to find your anchor… Derek actually probably went over this already,” he added self-consciously.

“We’ve covered it before,” Derek murmured right in his ear, and Stiles jumped. 

“JESUS!  Don’t DO that!” he panted, and when he turned, he found Derek grinning at him in a way that made him forget his agitation, forget everything, and fall into those gray-green eyes.  He swallowed hard, and then movement to the side caught his attention and he yanked his gaze away from Derek’s, turning his back on him, just as Jackson came over.  “R-right,” he stammered, and exhaled slowly, reminding himself to be calm.  Erica had that LOOK in her eyes, that gleam of wicked amusement, and Stiles glared mildly at her as he zipped his bag up.  “Okay, so, anchors.”  Derek moved away, giving him some space, and Stiles was gratified to see Jackson take a reflexive step back when Derek crowded him, refusing to meet the Alpha’s eyes, practically flinching when he passed too close.  Derek climbed into the bleachers, making space for Boyd and Isaac, who gathered around to eye Stiles’ equipment with curiosity.  “It can be anything, really… anything that reminds you of your humanity.  Something that doesn’t belong to the wolf.  It can be someone you love,” he said, gesturing to Jackson, who arched an eyebrow.  “Or a, a happy memory, or even an unhappy one as long as the way it made you feel was a human way.  It has to be strong,” he warned them, “strong enough to overpower the wolf, and it also has to make you….”  He paused, searching for words, realizing that they were all watching him with rapt attention.  “It… it can’t be something you  _run from_ ,” he explained.  “It has to be something that… for whatever reason, it calls you back home.  Back to yourself.”  Isaac was smiling like he knew exactly what Stiles was talking about.  Erica looked dubious, chewing on a fingernail.  Jackson’s eyes were narrowed to slits, as if he was trying to spontaneously achieve X-ray vision.  With effort, Stiles ignored him.  “So I want you guys to kind of take a minute, and if you don’t already have something that anchors you, try to find something.  Something that you would stay human for.  I’ll get this set up,” he offered, and extricated himself from the clump of curious werewolves, heading out to the line to get his stick and a collection of lacrosse balls.

“So, we’re, what, meditating?” Jackson snarked as Stiles walked away, and Boyd shoulder-checked him, knocking him back a step as he sat on the team bench.  

“You could use a little focused relaxation,” Boyd pointed out, but Jackson shot back, “Is this the part where you offer to sell me some weed?”

“You are SO tightly wound,” Erica murmured, sauntering past, brushing her hip against Jackson’s.  “You know, if you need a little help….”

“Get.  Off.  Me,” Jackson growled, and Erica shrugged.

“Not what you said the last time.  Remember that?”  She pursed her lips at him.  “In the club?  You, me, and Isaac?”  Jackson threw Isaac a look, and Isaac was grinning wickedly.  Erica purred.  “Maybe you were too close to being the Kanima, but you didn’t have any objections then, to either of us.”

Jackson actually seemed to hesitate at that, glancing back and forth between Erica’s lascivious smile and Isaac’s dark, meaningful gaze, then shook his head, mouth tightening as he stepped back out of their combined aura.  “Things change.”

“Well.”  Erica tossed her hair and went to tuck herself under Isaac’s arm.  “If you change your mind….”

“Guys!”  Stiles gave them an expectant look, then flopped his arms to his sides.  “You’re supposed to be thinking about anchors.  Don’t make me separate you!” he called from the field.  Erica laughed, and Jackson, looking mutinous, sat down hard.

“I think I’m ready,” Boyd said, passing Jackson on his way out to the field.  “What do you want me to do?”

Stiles fidgeted.  “Okay, don’t freak, but I’m gonna duct-tape your hands, just so… you know,” he said, gesturing with a roll of heavy-duty duct tape.  “And then you stand over there by the goal in case my shots go wide and if you want somebody to stand behind you or something and try to help in case you lose it, that’s cool.  And then… I basically get to chuck these at you.”  He tossed a lacrosse ball in his hand.  “Until you’re well and truly pissed off.  Oh, and wear this.”  He dropped the tape and the ball and scrambled for the monitor.  “Can you, um, take the jacket…?  Yeah, that’s great.”  Boyd stripped off his heavy leather jacket and easily tossed it into the stands.  Stiles strapped the heart monitor onto him and checked the handheld, making sure they were on the same frequency before shooing Boyd over to the goal.  “Anybody want to be his spotter?”

“I will,” Erica volunteered.

Stiles watched her come over, frowning.  “Are you sure?  Because he’s kind of….”

“I can handle him,” she interrupted, and flashed Boyd a knowing smile which he returned.  He held his hands behind him so Stiles could wrap his wrists in tape.  When he was done, Erica held his wrists behind him, leaning a little against his back.

“Okay,” Stiles said as he found his spot.  “Erica, try not to get hit, okay?  You’ll get your turn.”

She gave him a thumbs-up over Boyd’s shoulder.

Stiles tried to forget that Derek was watching him, probably judging him, as they went down the line.  It took a while to get Boyd angry enough to start shifting, and as he struggled with the urge Stiles kept hitting him right in the face (nobody said he couldn’t get in some shot-practice) until he was snarling and fighting Erica’s grip, trying to get at him.  But Erica held him with more strength than Stiles had thought she had and whispered things to him until, despite Stiles still firing balls at him at full strength, Boyd managed to keep calm, close his eyes, and return to human just in time for Stiles to crack him right in the forehead.  Erica laughed as he pitched backward, stunned, and Stiles almost apologized, but instead when Boyd straightened and eyed him, he gave him a thumbs up.

“Congratulations, buddy,” he called.  “You did it!  Who’s next?”

Jackson, who’d been watching the entire affair with unwavering intensity, stood up.  “It’s me,” he said, before anyone else could get a word in.  He took Boyd’s place as Boyd took a seat in the bleachers, letting Erica tear the tape off his hands, and held his wrists out.  “Well?” he said.  “Come on, Stilinski, let’s do this.”

Stiles hesitated, but then he took a look at the stands.  Derek sat there, elbows on his knees, and gave him a slight nod, so Stiles jogged over and began to tape Jackson’s hands behind him.

“Okay,” he said, “now, this isn’t personal or anything.  You know you don’t get to rip my throat out for this later, I’m just trying to help.”

“I got it,” Jackson said, and Stiles shut up.

“Somebody want to spot him?” he called, and while he expected Isaac to take the job, Derek surprised him by standing and stepping down onto the field.  Jackson went tense, all those jock muscles taut and quivering, his eyes fixed on the approaching Alpha, but Derek looked about as casual as he ever did, and took a spot behind him without comment.  Stiles chose not to question it.  “Okay.  So, do you have your anchor?  You’ve got it clear in your mind?”

“Just do it, Stilinski,” Jackson snarled, and Stiles stumbled back reflexively, then held up his hands.

“Okay, okay.  Great,” he chirped, retreating to his spot.  Behind him, he heard Derek murmur something unintelligible, to which Jackson replied, “Try me.”  He didn’t think that could be anything good – hopefully Derek knew what he was doing.

When he netted the first ball, Jackson stood with his eyes closed and his shoulders down.  He seemed to be picturing something in his mind, and Stiles called, “Remember, you have to get angry and start shifting, and THEN pull it back.  The object isn’t to keep your cool the whole time, it’s to get it back after you’ve already lost it.  Ready?”  Jackson didn’t reply, so Stiles went ahead and hit him anyway.

At first, he didn’t think Jackson had listened to him, because Jackson wasn’t getting angry.  Stiles wasn’t missing – most of his shots hit center-mass and when Jackson wasn’t moved, he hit him in the face a couple of times, but Jackson just sucked in a slow breath through his nose and kept his cool.  Then Derek started talking.  Stiles couldn’t hear what he was saying to Jackson, but Jackson’s breathing grew faster and his heart rate took a sharp upswing.  Stiles monitored him anxiously, but he kept hitting him, watching the little round indicator rise into the red zone as Jackson’s body rippled and strained and his eyes turned violently blue and his teeth gnashed as he fought Derek’s grip.  Stiles was uneasy, even though he didn’t think Jackson could break Derek’s grip, and he kept hitting him, spacing his shots so Derek could keep muttering whatever he was muttering.  Jackson thrashed and let out a roar, and Stiles saw the others starting to get to their feet in case he broke free.

“Pull it back, Jackson!” Stiles called, worried.  “Come on, man!  Think about your anchor!  Reach out for it!  Find it!”  Maybe, he thought, he should have had asked Jackson what his anchor was so he could remind him.  With Scott, it had been Allison, but he didn’t know for certain that Jackson was trying to think of Lydia.  If it hadn’t been such a private thing to ask, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated, but for all he knew Jackson would sooner eviscerate him than tell him what kept him human.  

“Remember Lydia!” he called with difficulty, figuring he might as well try it anyway as he whipped another ball right at Jackson’s face.  “Think about how beautiful she is!  How lucky you are!  She loves you, man!  Nobody else could ever be you for her!”  

It was hurting Stiles, like a wrenching pain in his gut, to say these things, but Jackson’s thrashing had subsided, so he kept doing it, ignoring how his voice cracked.  “Think about how smart she is!  She’s a freakin’ genius, man.  She acts dumb around you but I know you know her better than that.  You know she’s gonna do amazing things… right?”  He snapped another ball at Jackson, but it hit his knee – Stiles’ own distress was starting to affect his aim.  “She’s going to win a-a-a-a Fields Medal for Mathematics.  There’s nobody in the world like her and she loves you.  Think about that,” he said, and angrily dashed the back of his hand across his eyes.  Derek had stopped talking and was staring at him.  Isaac hovered twenty feet away, not sure whether to guard him or Jackson, but his eyes were on Stiles, comprehending, concerned.  Stiles hitched.  “You remember what she told you in that warehouse?” he croaked, and Jackson had almost stopped struggling.  There was something almost like coherency in his eyes.  “Remember when you asked her… when you were dying?  And she said…?”

_I still love you._

Jackson remembered.  His fangs were still bared, his ears pointed and his hair wild and thickened, but this time when he got his feet under him he was  _Jackson_ , not the ravening beast he’d just been.  He looked around in mild confusion, as if he couldn’t remember how he’d come to be there, and flinched when Derek patted his shoulder.  Then Derek left him standing there and headed toward Stiles, but Isaac was already there, taking his stick and touching his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled as he turned away, unable to handle Jackson’s eyes on him.  “I thought you’d remember that.”

The heart monitor beeped slow and steady.  Bit by bit, Jackson’s wolf features melted back into his regular face.  Before Derek could reach him and give the whole thing away – Stiles didn’t trust Jackson not to tell, or blackmail him about telling – Stiles turned and headed back to the bleachers.  He passed off the monitor to Isaac on the way, but Isaac followed him, leaving Derek to stand awkwardly by himself in the middle of the field while Jackson slowly worked the duct-tape off his wrists.

“You okay?” Isaac murmured, and Stiles, sniffling, nodded.

“Yeah,” he exhaled.  “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Do you want me to hit him for you?”  This was Erica, and Stiles laughed through the tears he was refusing to let fall.

“Nah.  Thanks.”  He wiped his eyes again, and Erica leaned in.

“I’m going to go distract Derek before he comes over here and does something stupid and obvious,” she whispered.  “Chin up, okay?”  She actually chucked him under the chin, and when he swatted at her, she said, “You’re SO adorable,” and walked off laughing.  That left him with Isaac and Boyd, and Isaac’s arm slid around his shoulders and despite the fact that they weren’t really dating and they weren’t really  _that_  way with each other, Stiles felt comforted by his attentiveness.

“You know,” Boyd said slowly, “I think maybe you’ve got something here.”

Stiles sniffled and blinked.  “Hm?”

“This whole thing.”  Boyd gestured at the field.  “I had my doubts ‘cause honestly you’re kind of a spaz.  But I think you’re onto something with this.  You’re gonna finish it, right?” he asked pointedly.  “Everybody gets a turn?”

He was feeling more centered by the minute, so Stiles nodded.  “Yeah, of course, everybody gets a turn.  I thought maybe we’d all actually go twice, just to kind of… get used to what works and how it works.”

Boyd nodded.  “That’s good,” he said approvingly.  “That’s a good idea.”

Stiles managed a smile.  “And we can do it again, y’know, once in a while, just to really get the hang of it.  We should at least keep doing it as the full moon gets closer,” he said, “so you’ve got some practice dealing with that sort of… upswell of aggression.”  Boyd was nodding like what he was saying made sense, and Isaac squeezed his shoulder before letting him go.  “You guys could even do it with each other, just make sure you have a spotter so things don’t get out of hand.”

“Boyd can spot me,” Isaac said.  He handed the heart monitor back to Stiles.  “I’m going next.”  He headed over to finish freeing Jackson while Stiles resumed his place.  This time, though, Derek was hovering close to him, and Erica flashed them both a look of warning before she went to sit with Boyd.

Derek didn’t look at him, just stood nearby with his hands in his pockets while Jackson taped Isaac’s hands a little too enthusiastically.  “You all right?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth, and Stiles nodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  It’s all good.” 

“Isaac tells me you’re doing a study group tonight.”  

Stiles glanced at Derek.  “We were considering it.”

Derek nodded, and as Stiles was tossing a ball into his net, he said, “After group….”

“My Dad’s home,” Stiles warned him, and Derek cast him a sidelong glance.

“I know you can sneak out.”

That made Stiles’ stomach flop and suddenly he felt oddly breathless.  “You want me to…” he gulped.  “… Come by?”  He risked meeting Derek’s eyes.  Derek gave him a single, slow nod, then stepped away, returning to the bleachers to watch.  Stiles squirmed, hoping his physical response to that invitation wasn’t obvious to anyone watching him.  It looked like he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, but he doubted he’d regret it even when he was peeling himself out of bed in the morning.

“Ready,” Isaac called, and Stiles refocused his attention.

“All right,” he yelled at his laughing fake-boyfriend.  “Remember, for this to work, you actually have to get mad!”

“Shut up and hit me!” Isaac called with a saucy grin, and Stiles returned it as he wound up and let it fly.

X-X-X

If Sheriff Stilinski had regrets about allowing his son to invite all of Beacon Hills’ problem children over for a study group, he didn’t express them.  Their house was crowded and loud in a way it hadn’t been in years with the wolf pack, plus Stiles and Lydia, clustered together in the living room.  Derek wasn’t present of course, but Scott had come over after work.  Through the entire session he cast wistful looks at Lydia and Jackson, and Stiles considered that maybe next time he ought to find Allison privately and invite her.  The way Scott missed her was written all over his face.  His guests surprised him by bringing cash to chip in for pizza, and Jackson wound up taking their money and putting it on his credit card.  He’d been subdued since their ‘exercises’, and even Lydia wasn’t managing to get much communication out of him.  She responded by trying to chat up everyone else, but she didn’t seem comfortable with Erica, and only Isaac, Scott, and Stiles really responded to her.

Still, it was a companionable way to spend an evening.  Lydia held court over Math and Chemistry homework with Boyd while Stiles worked with Scott on an English Lit. paper and Isaac and Erica commandeered Jackson to  answer the end-of-chapter questions from their European History textbook.  Several times Scott caught his father wandering past the open doorway into the kitchen smiling in that strange, parental fashion, and he figured his Dad was just happy that he had friends all of a sudden – Scott was great, they were joined at the hip, but this was almost like popularity.  It was nice, enlightening, to sit back and watch the interactions as Jackon slowly forgot to be terse and reserved and relented a little to Isaac and Erica’s persistent attention.  Boyd wasn’t bad at Math or Chemistry so Lydia didn’t get frustrated with him, but patiently showed him how to get his measurements and checked them against her own results.  Her fastidious precision with their Geometry worksheet was something to see – Stiles’ work never looked that neat.  Between keeping an eye on them and helping Scott edit his essay as he wrote it, Stiles finished off a couple of worksheets and started working on some essay questions Coach Finstock had assigned for Econ.  When Isaac finished, he joined Stiles on the couch and curled up beside him to complete the same homework, unabashedly cribbing off Stiles’ finished questions for his own answers, joking quietly with Scott.  He was furiously warm against Stiles’ side, and  _cuddly_ , and Stiles couldn’t help blushing when he noticed Lydia watching them with a calculating look in her eyes.  He would have trusted Lydia with the truth, might tell her privately when he got a chance, so her scrutiny of their little white lie was discomfiting.

Still, when Scott and Isaac finally drifted out at the end of the night, the last ones to leave, Stiles was… happy.  He’d had everybody together and it hadn’t been a disaster.  Nobody had even sniped at anyone else.  Maybe the secret to pack harmony was wearing them out, getting their aggression out, before sitting them down together.  He’d have to pass that on to Derek, if Derek gave him a chance.

Stiles bid his Dad goodnight and climbed up the stairs.  He knew his father would stay up late working, so he lumped some pillows together under his blankets and then scribbled a note to tuck under there with them:

> Dad,
> 
> Sorry I snuck out, but me and Isaac didn’t get much privacy tonight.
> 
> I promise we’re not doing anything dangerous or going anywhere dangerous.
> 
> I’ll be back before morning.  Please don’t ground me!  All my homework’s done
> 
> so I figure I paid my dues and I deserve some boyfriend time.
> 
> Love you.  Sleep good, handsome man.
> 
> -Stiles

He carefully shaped the pillows to look like a sleeping body and snuck out his window, dropping to the ground below.  There was no movement in the house, so he hustled across the street and started toward the edge of town.  He was almost to the end of the block when he heard someone clear their throat behind him – whirling, he saw Derek leaning against a lamp post.

“I didn’t want to startle you,” Derek said.

“That was a vast improvement,” Stiles assured him.  “What are you doing here?”

Derek lifted an eyebrow.  “You thought I was going to make you walk all the way to my house?”

“I…?”  Stiles, pulling his shirt-sleeves over his hands and wrapping them around his fingers, shook his head.  “I guess I didn’t think about it.”

Derek smirked slightly and inclined his head, indicating Stiles should follow him.  They passed between two adjacent houses to  the next street, Stiles sneakers squeaking in the wet grass.  Derek’s car was parked in a pool of light there, and he opened the passenger-side door, motioning Stiles in.

“Ohhh,” Stiles cooed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  “I get to ride in the Camaro?”

“Just get in,” Derek said dryly, and Stiles obediently dove into the car and made himself comfortable.  Derek came around and slid in beside him, and the car’s engine purred to life, lighting up the dashboard in greens and blues.

“Did I ever tell you how sexy this car is?” Stiles asked.  Derek’s only response was a sidelong glance, but the corner of his mouth quirked just slightly, and that was enough to make Stiles bounce gleefully and hold his tongue as they drove off into the night.  Derek had the radio set on a local rock station, volume down, so Stiles felt no need to change it.  Luckily they didn’t have far to go, because just sitting in the dark with Derek’s quiet intensity taking up all the space beside him was starting to get him flustered.

“So, um,” he began, and Derek eyed him.

“Stiles.”

“No,” he assured him.  “I’m not going to ramble at you.  I just want to know… what you thought.  About today.”

For a long moment Derek just stared out at the street, but finally he said, “I think I can see why Scott is so grounded.  Between you and Allison… he actually needed very little from me.”  When he caught Stiles watching him, lip caught between his teeth, he added, “You did good.”

“Yeah?”  At his nod, Stiles flopped back against his seat, bobbing his head in triumph.  “Yeah.”

Derek smiled.

“Do you really think it’s safe to come back here?” Stiles asked as Derek pulled up to his family home.  “I mean… the Argents still know about this place.”

“It’s not,” Derek agreed.  “That’s why I don’t live here.  But stealing a few hours of privacy should be okay.”

He parked the car and climbed out as Stiles was gawking.  “A FEW hours?” he repeated, scrambling when Derek got ahead of him, spilling out into the leaf litter and trying not to act like an overeager puppy as he followed the Alpha to the door.  Derek paused with his hand on the knob, probably listening for intruders.  It must have been all clear, because he pushed the door open and stepped into the darkness.  Though Stiles didn’t want to admit it, the burned-out shell of the Hale house still creeped him out.  Still, this was all Derek had left of his home, his family… he wouldn’t want to tear it down, Stiles mused, not with his dogged obsession for holding onto the past.

“Have you ever thought about rebuilding this place?” he began to ask, but Derek ignored the question, wrapping a hand in Stiles’ shirt and dragging him up the stairs (carefully skirting the one he’d fallen through last time).  When they reached the hall Derek reeled him in and pulled his shirt over his head, kissing him slowly, shrugging off his jacket as they stumbled together into the remains of his room.  Derek wasn’t being greedy but he was insistent, gently cupping Stiles hips to pull him close, delving further into his mouth with each lingering, unhurried kiss, sliding his hands slowly up his lean, taut back and trailing calloused fingers across the goosebumps that rose to meet his touch.  Stiles groaned into his mouth, his fingers knotted in the hair at the nape of Derek’s neck, holding onto him as his Alpha overwhelmed him with sweetness.  When Derek slipped his hands under his thighs and picked him up, Stiles buried his head in Derek’s shoulder and moaned a soft, pleading, “Yes,” pressing close as he was carried to Derek’s bed.

Derek’s eyes gleamed in the darkness but Stiles wasn’t afraid of that intensity anymore… well, okay, he was  _less_  afraid now, trusting in Dereks’ promise that he wouldn’t hurt him.  It made his heart beat faster and he wouldn’t have given up that thrill for anything, or the shivering anticipation as they pressed close to each other and their mouths touched in the darkness.  He arched into Derek’s hands and rolled toward him as his lover sank down onto the bed with him, reaching behind him to pull Derek’s shirt over his head as Derek bent to press a line of soft kisses down his chest.  There was no urgency in him tonight, and it made Stiles wonder what need he was filling, because it obviously wasn’t anything as simple as lust.  Derek pressed against him and sucked on the curve of his neck even as his fingers slipped under Stiles’ waistband, unbuttoning his jeans and dragging the zipper down.  The bed squeaked under their weight, the only other sound their sighs and soft whispers as Derek’s fingertips slid downward, following the soft line of hair that trailed to his groin.

“Here…?”

“Yeah… mph….”

"Mm, you like that."  A low chuckle in the darkness.

" _Fuck_ , Derek...!"

Derek swallowed his moan as his roughened fingertips traced the soft skin of Stiles’ shaft.  He kept it light, teasing him, making Stiles writhe and arch in his arms as he held him tight against his body and just touched him.  That was all it took – Stiles bit Derek’s collarbone in frustration, keening softly as he tried to press harder against his stroking hand but Derek evaded him.  He pushed his hand down further and cupped his balls, dragging fingers along his taint, earning a shuddering gasp as Stiles melted in his arms.  “God,” he breathed, biting along Derek’s neck, earning low growls from the werewolf.  “Please, Derek, please...!”  And when Derek finally closed his hand around his cock and squeezed upward, Stiles came with a broken cry of pleasure, spilling over Derek’s fingers and his own stomach, trying to curl his body in two directions at once as Derek swiped a cum-slicked thumb over his cockhead, teasing the slit with the edge of the nail and pumping him steadily through his climax.  He dug his nails into Derek’s skin and muffled his cries against his shoulder, teeth scraping the jut of his collarbone, and Derek just held him and kissed his hair and murmured low, soothing nonsense until Stiles had nothing left to give and slumped against his strong chest, panting, shivering now and again in residual pleasure.

“God,” Stiles groaned at length, when he came back to himself.  “I’m so easy.”

That earned a smile.  “You’re young,” Derek murmured, nuzzling him, bumping their noses together in a decidedly wolfish display of affection.  Stiles sighed.

“Christ, don’t remind me.  And don’t act like you’re so much older,” he chided Derek, leaning up to bite his lower lip.  That earned a pleased growl.  “You don’t get grown-up cred just because you graduated.”

Derek gave him a look, but Stiles ignored him.  He had better things to do than make conversation anyway – Derek’s arousal was pressed against his thigh through his jeans.  Stiles wondered if he would always be so generous, or if he was being extra nice in deference to Stiles’ lack of experience.  Regardless, now that he was thinking clearly, he wanted to return the favor, so he surged up and kissed Derek eagerly while he tugged at the button on his jeans.  His sudden enthusiasm took Derek aback, but he didn't protest as Stiles dragged the zipper down and worked his jeans from his hips to his knees.  He paused at the waist of Derek's boxer-briefs, fingertips tracing the line of cotton, licking his lips as his eyes flicked up to meet Derek's.

"I..." he murmured hesitantly, "I... really want to see you.  Can I...?"

"You can do anything you want," Derek said gently, and Stiles raised a challenging eyebrow.

" _Anything_?"  

"Stiles."

He grinned at the chiding tone and slowly pulled the waist of Derek's underwear down, exposing the dark length of his cock.  In the darkness it was hard to see, but he could make out enough, and he tugged and coaxed until the boxer-briefs were tangled around Derek's thighs and his cock arched thick and hard over his stomach, balls hanging hot and heavy beneath.  It was the first time he'd seen a dick that wasn't his own, in this context at least, and he had to swallow before he could get up the courage to press his palm against the throbbing shaft.  Derek's breath hitched, but he kept his hands to himself, letting Stiles explore, slowly rubbing his fingers and palm along the length of Derek's cock, getting a feel for the texture, the weight of it in his hand.  When Stiles rubbed his thumb over the head, he earned a strained whine that made him feel wildly daring, and he sank into Derek's arms, pressing against his side, switching hands so he could grip him and pump him in a slow rhythm.  Derek's head tipped back and he groaned, panting softly in time with Stiles' strokes, and that heady sense of absolute power was so fucking intoxicating he couldn't help nudging his head up hard under Derek's jaw, biting and sucking at his exposed throat, sliding his trapped hand up Derek's back until he could grip a handful of his hair and keep his head craned back like that.  Rather than protesting, Derek just groaned louder, gasping raggedly, his throat fluttering under Stiles' mouth.  Stiles gave a playful growl and dug his teeth in, arching his own hips forward to press his swelling cock against Derek's hip - it was ridiculous how hot the werewolf made him, but he'd sooner cut out his own tongue than object.  His aggression found its echo in Derek - as Stiles bit into his throat, Derek gave a sharp, hoarse groan and clapped his hand over Stiles'.  He squeezed hard, forcing Stiles to grip his cock tighter, and together they jerked him off as he squirmed under Stiles' weight, heels sliding across the sheets, fingers leaving bruised imprints in Stiles' hip as he held Stiles against him tight enough to hurt.  Stiles threw a leg over Derek's and arched with a groan, rubbing his hips against the werewolf's, grinding against him in time with the steady pump of their hands.

He knew Derek was about to cum by the slow, deep shudders that wracked that gorgeous body, by the soft, almost plaintive noises that escaped Derek's throat, muffled in Stiles hair, and the fine tremor in his fingers as they kept Stiles' moving. Stiles rubbed his fingers across the tip as much as he could on each stroke, spreading the precum that dripped from his slit and rubbing it into the skin.  With that kind of meticulous attention, he had Derek cumming in his arms in minutes, digging nails into his hip hard enough to draw blood as he shuddered over and over.  His cum slicked Stiles' fingers and dewed in the trail of dark hair under his belly button, and Stiles kept stroking him until his stomach stopped quivering and he slumped against the pillows with a sated groan.  Derek's grip on him grew less painful, and only then did he feel the trickles of blood tickling along his thigh.  He was breathing like a bellows, his eyes closed, and Stiles wondered where he went, if he'd lost him for those last moments, if he was thinking about somebody else.

 _Well_ , he thought,  _screw that_.  He took Derek's hand and pressed it against his straining cock, skin to skin, and pulled Derek's head down by the hair so he could bite his lower lip.  Derek's eyes flew open as if this was the last thing he expected, but he responded, pressing his palm against Stiles so he could grind against his palm, moaning sweetly against his mouth, hitching his body against Derek's with deliberate snaps of his hips.  As Derek came back to earth, he rolled forward a little and tipped Stiles onto his back so he could squeeze his balls between deliberate strokes of his hand, finally responding to his mouth, kissing him with a rumbling growl as he took Stiles' lower lip between his teeth and tugged.  "NPH!" Stiles groaned in raw ecstasy, dragging his nails  _hard_  along Derek's back, desperate to mark him the way he'd been marked.  Derek snarled and arched into his hands, head snapping back as his powerful back flexed and he pumped Stiles faster.  He attacked Stiles' shoulder with his teeth and earned a whimpering gasp, pressing him down into the ancient mattress with his body and fisting his cock until Stiles came again with Derek's name spilling from his lips.  He growled when he heard it and gave his head a hard shake, worrying at the skin between his teeth, but careful even then not to tear it as Stiles screamed his name to the ceiling and gave one final hard thrust against his hand.

Later, Stiles rubbed his thumb against the outline of a hickey and watched it fade, letting out a disappointed sigh as it vanished back into Derek's skin.  Derek smiled and cracked an eye open.  

"Revenge?" he asked.

Stiles shrugged.  "Basically.  But all things considered," he added, wincing as Derek's roaming fingers teased the edges of the puncture-cuts on his hip, "I doubt I'll ever catch up."

Derek kissed his forehead.  "You okay?"

"Peachy."  Stiles wasn't concerned about the claw marks.  No one would see them and he didn't think he could turn from a scratch - at least, he assumed Derek would have told him if that was the case.  "I just worry if we keep this up you're going to bite me sooner or later."

  
Derek sighed.  "I won't lie.  There's definitely a risk of that.  If you wanted to stop I wouldn't blame you."

Stiles raised his head and saw Derek was utterly serious.  He made a derisive noise.  "Pffft... come on, sourwolf," he said, smacking Derek's chest teasingly.  "You think I'm gonna run for the hills for that?  I handcuffed Scott's ass to my radiator," he reminded Derek, "you can't scare me."

Derek arched an eyebrow and gave a low, threatening growl.  "Oh really?"

Stiles subsided immediately, nuzzling his head against Derek's shoulder.  "Okay, you can still scare me," he confessed.  "But, come on.  You think I don't know what I'm into?  I'm the guy you handed a surgical saw and told to cut off your arm."

"Yeah, and you couldn't do it," Derek reminded him, and Stiles snorted.

"Yeah, but it turned out not to be necessary, didn't it?  And I watched Jackson murder people while I was lying there helpless, and I've had Scott's back through two break-ups with Allison.  I may just be a scrawny, claw-less, tooth-less human, but I don't scare easy."  He let that sink in, then added casually, "the way I see it, this just means I need to tie you down once in a while.  You're okay with handcuffs, right?  'Cause Erica told me about those head-screws and I figured if you can dish it out you can take it...."

Derek growled and pinned Stiles under him, stopping his laughter with a deep, possessive kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is so much bromance in this chapter I don't know what to do with it all. Hope y'all don't mind!

Study-hall was second period with Mr. Harris presiding, but Danny was undeterred by the presence of their Chemistry teacher. He got there early and leaned over the desk, bookbag slung carefully over his shoulder, offering Mr. Harris a written note from their English teacher.

"Ms. Finch said Jackson and I could have library privileges today to work on our project," he murmured softly, "If that's okay with you, sir. Since we're working on it together we sort of have to talk to each other and I don't want to disturb your study hall."

Harris took the note and glanced at it, assessing Ms. Finch's signature. "Mm, Dostoevsky. Brings back memories," he said dryly. He added his signature to the bottom of the form. "Congratulations, Mahealani, you are officially the only person in this farcical excuse for a school who bothers to think ahead or consider the feelings of others. Sometimes I wonder what you're doing here with the rest of the Neanderthals."

"Social Anthropology," Danny said with a grin, and that earned a laugh from Harris. Danny actually rather disliked their chemistry teacher, but buttering up Harris kept him, and by extension Jackson, out of trouble, and Danny was pretty good at that sort of thing anyway, so it wasn't like it was a hardship. He took his signed form and hung around by Harris' desk to wait for Jackson, who was late coming in, deep in conversation with Lydia, who still looked oddly fragile around the eyes. She'd been the talk of the school after her ordeal but as far as anyone knew she was dealing with it with the usual amount of aplomb. Danny suspected things weren't as okay as she was pretending they were, but over years of being Jackson's wing man he'd learned Lydia's facade was like porcelain - you couldn't start chipping at it or the whole thing would shatter and there was no telling what kind of mess you'd be left with.

"Hey guys," he said amiably, interrupting their discussion. "Jackson, I cleared us to go to the library for study period so we can work on that English thing. You don't mind if I steal him?" he asked Lydia innocently, and she tossed her hair.

"Be my guest. It'll be nice to see him excelling again, for a change."

Ouch. But talking back to Lydia was not Danny's function, so he just smiled and gripped Jackson's shoulder, steering him out the door and into the swiftly-emptying hallway. The bell rang as they were halfway to the library but Danny had their pass in hand in case they got stopped. It hardly mattered - he wasn't taking Jackson to the library anyway, which the other boy discovered when Danny started to turn down the wrong hallway, toward the auditorium.

"Dude," Jackson said, stopping cold, gesturing down the correct hallway, and Danny just shook his head and continued on his path, forcing Jackson to jog to catch up. "Dude!" Jackon said again at his shoulder, then whispered, "Are we cutting?"

"Well, we will actually have to find time to do Finch's assignment," Danny said dryly, "but yeah, for now, we're cutting." He cut Jackson a sharp, sidelong glance, and Jackson blinked at the intensity in his eyes. "You and me," Danny said evenly, "need to have a talk." He pushed open the outside door and stepped into the dim sunlight - the day was still overcast, but at least it wasn't misting like yesterday.

It was a tribute to their long friendship that Jackson followed him out of school, off the main grounds, and all the way out to the lacrosse field without asking any questions. Only when they arrived at the bleachers did he stop, hands on his hips, and give Danny an expectant, "So, now what?"

Danny folded his arms. "Now we hash some things out."

Jackson shrugged. "What's that supposed to mean?" He was trying for innocent, but came across as defensive, and anyway, Danny was far too well-versed in reading Jackson's evasive patterns to be fooled.

"Do you know where I was yesterday?" he asked, and when Jackson just raised an eyebrow, Danny walked over to the farthest end of the bleachers and then ducked under them, beckoning to Jackson to join him. "I was right here," he said, reaching through and smacking the metal benches. "For about an hour and a half, watching you, McCall, Stilinski, Stilinski's non-English-speaking cousin who apparently both speaks English and is not a cousin, and the school misfits engage in some kind of sado-masochistic bonding exercise." He saw the flare of comprehension in Jackson's eyes, but though he worked his jaw anxiously, he didn't respond, so Danny continued. "You ditched me for them. Which is uncharacteristic of you, to say the least, but ever since McCall's meteoric rise on the field, I've noticed you swinging closer and closer into his orbit, him and all the weirdness that surrounds him. I chalked it up partially to rivalry, to Lydia's friendship with Allison... but clearly, it's not that, because neither of those things explains what went on here yesterday." He gave Jackson another chance to say something, and when he didn't, when he wouldn't even meet his eyes, Danny stepped closer, crowding into his space. "I. Watched. You. Change," he said slowly, clearly. "I don't know what I saw, but I saw it. I saw it happen to you, and to Lahey, and to those other two. And when I saw it, I started putting things together. All these crazy murders lately," he said, waving a hand, "Stilinski and McCall never where they ought to be, your weird-ass behavior, Lydia's mental breakdown, Allison losing her Aunt, her mother, and her grandfather practically all at once, and Stilinski's fake cousin showing up everywhere. The words 'claws', 'teeth', and 'paralytic neurotoxin' have been showing up a LOT in Sheriff's reports lately, people turning up mauled, lots of excuses about mountain lions. But it's not mountain lions, is it? That night at the club, when I wound up on my back, totally incapable of moving, praying it didn't stop my heart or freeze my lungs, praying every breath I took wouldn't be the last one I could manage... this has been going on all year and you never saw fit to fill me in on any of it. How does that work?" he asked with a challenging shrug. "How does that not seem like something I would really want to know about?"

Jackson's mouth thinned. "You pulled the police reports?"

Danny gave him a dry look. "Don't bitch about my record. I didn't even rattle the floor. So, now I know what the police know which isn't much, but with the other little pieces? I think I'm starting to get a pretty good picture right now. Strange as hell, but in a totally weird, bizarre, life-changing way I guess it makes sense. Now, do you want to give me an explanation," he asked pointedly, "or do you want me to keep extrapolating? Because digging up information is officially my calling in life and I WILL find those last pieces and fit them into place whether you give them to me or not. We may not be friends anymore at that point," he added casually. "I mean, I'll tolerate a lot from you but this whole thing, whatever it is, has already put my life at risk and if you don't actually give a fuck about that...."

"Shut up," Jackson snapped, slamming his fist into one of the bleacher supports. To Danny's horror, it actually buckled a little and gave an ominous creak. "Of course I give a fuck about that! I've been trying," he snarled in sharp, clipped syllables, "to keep you out of this, to keep you SAFE. People are getting hurt all around me lately, in case you haven't noticed! For the longest time I wasn't even in control of my own... stuff! There were things going on here that you don't understand, and there were people watching me, hurting the people I care about. I kept you off the radar," he snarled. "I kept you out of it. This isn't a game, it's deadly serious!"

"Yeah, the murders sort of indicated that to me," Danny said evenly, refusing to be pulled into Jackson's emotional vortex. "But it didn't occur to you that if crazy, whacked-out shit was happening to my best friend, chasing him around, ruining his life, I'd want to have your back?" Jackson just turned a tight-drawn shoulder to him, fuming, so Danny went on, softening a little. "Do you remember when we were twelve?"

Jackson's head turned. "... Anything specific about when we were twelve?"

Danny smiled faintly and began to circle him with slow, thoughtful steps. "We were at your house, playing video-games. You'd said something to Lydia Martin about those shoes she was so proud of and she justifiably knocked you on your ass. You were complaining to me about girls. All girls everywhere, like that made it less obvious she'd totally schooled your ass."

He saw Jackson's eyebrows knit together in a slight frown, and he glanced at Danny out of the corner of his eyes. "You mean when you came out to me?"

Danny nodded. "That was my weirdest secret. My most bizarre difference. I didn't realize what a big deal it wouldn't end up being, but I looked up to you and I really just desperately wanted you to tell me I wasn't a freak. And to give credit where credit is due, I believe at twelve years old, you said, 'that doesn't make you weird, that makes you freaking smart'."

Jackson finally cracked a smile and gave a soft, chuffing laugh, and Danny smiled too, scuffing his shoe against the ground as he circled in to stand at his friend's shoulder. "So the moral of the story," Jackson ventured, "is, you tell me your secrets, I tell you my secrets?"

"Close. The moral of the story is TRUST me, man." Danny elbowed him. "I trust you. When have I ever freaked out over anything you've ever done? I get that it's weird; you're running around emulating Lon Chaney. But if you're a...." Despite himself, he hesitated, earning a dry glance from Jackson.

"Just say it," he said almost bitterly, and Danny fumbled.

"I... honestly, I feel weird just saying it. And I kind of want you to say it first so I don't sound completely crazy," he confessed. Jackson's shoulders sagged a little - he took pity on him.

"Werewolf," he said, resigned. "I'm a werewolf. Now. Before I was... something else. Something... even weirder. And that, um, that paralysis thing...." He rubbed his mouth. "That was me. Sorry. It's complicated, but I wasn't actually... kinda didn't have control of myself for a while."

Danny shook his head. "You knocked out my ex too, I consider us even on that one. Watching him gasp like a beached fish doesn't quite make up for how freakishly scary it was, but it comes close. I just wish... man, why didn't you come to me? I'm not a total noob, you know, I could have helped! I might not be a... a.... shit, it still sounds crazy, but whatever, but I'm still actually kind of a genius in case you totally missed the last eight years."

Jackson held up a hand. "Trust me, I had enough people trying to help me out," he said dryly, and Danny smirked.

"That have anything to do with the restraining order on McCall and Stilinski?" By Jackson's snort, he knew he was right. "So when they kidnapped you...?"

It was hard for Jackson to admit, but he did cave, a muscle standing out in his jaw as he shifted in agitation. "They were trying to keep me from Shifting and hurting people. Like Lydia," he said grudgingly. "Like you."

"And the video," Danny said, "you were trying to catch the shift on tape."

Jackson cracked his neck, stalling. "I thought I was infected. I got Hale... Derek Hale, he's the Alpha, and I could not tell you why he was posing as Stilinski's cousin... He bit me, but it didn't take. Instead of becoming a werewolf I became this murderous snake-thing. His entire wolf pack... that's Lahey, Boyd, and Reyes, by the way... was hunting me for a while and McCall and Stilinski, much as I hate to admit it, were trying to keep them from putting me down permanently. Which doesn't make them any less idiotic, but at the time I... I didn't remember shifting, or what I was doing. I shouldn't have dragged you into it, trying to get evidence," he confessed. "Turns out Matt was actually holding the reigns. Between you getting clues, and him being interested in you... you have no idea how much danger you were in," he told Danny earnestly, and Danny believed him. "That slaughter at the Sheriff's station... I killed all those people. Because he told me to." He shuddered a little, and Danny found his concern growing. He'd known something was up, but he hadn't known Jackson was carrying the weight of all those deaths. That was serious, that was... that was trauma. If it came out... no wonder he'd kept the secret so close to his chest.

"So, what happened?" he asked carefully. "You're free now, right?"

"I... Allison's crazy old grandpa killed Matt," Jackson confessed, "Drowned him. I watched it. And then he... took over. He wanted the bite, which was all I wanted from the beginning. He was dying of some shit, I didn't listen when he gave his bad-guy speech," he said, frustration leaking out through his tone. "McCall switched his heart pills or something, poisoned him, and then they... they......." His hands were clenching spasmodically, and Danny gripped his shoulders, trying to steady him. Jackson lifted unnaturally blue eyes to his. "They killed me," he blurted out, breath coming in fast, short pants. "They finally did it. But... I didn't die. I mean, I did, but only the snake stayed dead. I came back. I came back AGAIN. God, how many times have I died now? You don't understand," he snarled, smacking Danny's hand away when he reached out to comfort him, "I don't remember!"

"Jackson!" A little thrown by what he'd started, Danny wrapped his arms around Jackson and dragged him down because he seemed dangerously off-balance. They collapsed to the dead grass under the bleachers and he held onto Jackson as he shivered, in the grip of something, maybe a panic attack or a flash-back or some other symptom of what had to be post-traumatic stress disorder. He'd opened a can of worms, he realized, that was far too volatile for him to close again - Jackson needed more than his best friend, he needed professional help, but where did a werewolf find a therapist?

Regardless, unless someone with a psych degree and a few years experience treating army veterans happened to walk under the bleachers right now, Danny was alone to deal with this particular freak-out. He squeezed, not caring how it looked that the two of them were huddled together in a quivering pile, keeping Jackson's arms pinned and murmuring, "It's okay, Jackson, it's okay, it's okay, it's just me, deep breaths," against Jackson's shoulder. "You're not there," he added as Jackson's body hitched. "You're right here. Nothing's wrong, it's okay. Relax." He kept saying that, pointless, comforting bullshit that even he didn't believe, until Jackson's hiccups subsided and his breathing began to even out. Finally, Jackson's hand lifted and settled over his, silent indication that he knew where he was now, and Danny let out a harsh sigh.

"Well," he murmured against Jackson's shoulder. "That was fun. Shhhh," he murmured when Jackson hitched again, and carded fingers through his hair, nuzzling the back of his head. "Easy. It's okay. It's just one more thing we'll never, ever tell anybody. Like that time in freshman year...."

"Shut up," Jackson said hoarsely, but Danny could hear the affection, and he smiled.

"You okay?"

"Well," Jackson drawled. "Obviously not. But I think I'm... functioning."

"Good, because we still have classes today and I don't want to have to explain to Lydia how I broke you," Danny said. "Listen... I want the whole story. Or as much as you can tell me. You know I deserve to know. And I'd never tell anyone. Who'd believe me?" he laughed, but Jackson didn't echo his amusement.

"There are people hunting us," he told Danny sharply. "Whatever I tell you, keep it to yourself. You understand? You don't screw around with these people," he snarled, wrapping his fist in Danny's shirt, "they're not in it as a joke."

"I understand." Danny kept his calm, tried not to be a little unnerved by the way Jackson's eyes seemed to glow like that when he got agitated. "I know what discretion means."

Jackson seemed to abruptly realize he'd gotten out of hand, because he released Danny's shirt with an embarrassed look that Danny was willing to accept in lieu of an apology. He sat back on the grass, and Danny let him go, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I'll tell you everything," Jackson said, looking oddly defeated. "I'll come over after school. Lydia has some... some gaps too. I guess she could stand to be caught up. But you have to remember, I don't know the whole story."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Well, who does?"

Jackson's expression spoke for itself. "Stilinski. And probably Hale and McCall," he added grudgingly. "But you'd have better luck with Stilinski. Guy doesn't know how to shut up, he'll spill something."

"Yeah, Hale seemed pretty... uh... irritable," Danny mused awkwardly, "the last time I met him." He avoided Jackson's piercing look to no avail.

"Uh-huh. Well, if you really want to have a conversation with his cheekbones, be my guest, but I'd keep it under wraps if I were you. He's the Alpha Wolf," Jackson cautioned him, "and he's legit dangerous. Guy's scared the piss out of me more than once."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "Literally?"

"No!" Jackson scoffed. "Not literally, what the hell? I'm not gonna piss myself over some pecs in a tight shirt like some people I know."

"He is built," Danny allowed, and earned a derisive snort.

"Yeah, well." Jackson's fingers twisted against each other. "Find someone else."

"Someone not a werewolf?"

"Someone safe. Someone who's not part of all this bullshit." Jackson sounded tired, and Danny clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

"If they weren't part of it, I'd have to bring them in," he said sympathetically. "How is that fair? Because we're bro's. If you're in it, I'm in it with you. Just... don't lie to me from here on out, okay?" he pleaded. "Tell me what's going on. Give me a chance to back you up."

"Yeah, I got it, I'm sorry, okay?" Jackson said irritably, but apologies were rare from him so Danny took it as it came. He almost immediately softened anyway, and extended his hand to Danny. "We're cool?"

"As always." Danny rapped the back of his knuckles against Jackson's.

 

X-X-X

 

“So the way I see it,” Stiles said matter-of-factly as Scott slammed his locker shut, “I owe you for all the TMI when you were with Allison.”  He leaned against the row of lockers, halfway through changing, eyes gleaming with the kind of mischief that promised nothing good for Scott’s sanity.  
  
“Oh, dude, no, please,” Scott pleaded.  “Can we just consider that one settled?  I can already smell way more than I want to.”  
  
“Oh really?”  Stiles eyebrows proclaimed innocence but the grin pulling at his mouth belied it.  “Not going to ask me how it’s going?  Because it’s going really, _really_ …”  
  
“I know it’s going really good!” Scott whined.  “It’s all over you!  And while we’re on the subject, put a shirt on, you look like you got mauled.”  
  
Stiles startled, then decided that was probably a good idea.  He grabbed his shirt out of his locker and was in the process of turning it right-side out when Coach Finstock’s voice snapped through the locker room like a whip-crack.  
  
“STILINSKI!”  
  
Stiles whirled, twisting the shirt between his hands, but he turned the wrong way – Coach Finstock was behind him, and he clapped Stiles’ bare shoulder a little too roughly.  “Look at you,” he growled, and gave Stiles a fond shake, then reached up and ground his knuckles into Stiles hair.  “Congratulations, buddy.  Better late than never, _that’s_ what I always say!”  Then he moved on, and Stiles was left to turn furiously red while all the guys nearby stared at his hickey-spotted torso with a mixture of surprise and amusement.  Somebody wolf-whistled and Stiles yanked the shirt down over his head with mutinous force.  
  
“Shut up,” he muttered at Scott, who was grinning so hard his face threatened to split.  
  
Scott snickered.  “You’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty funny….”  
  
“It isn’t FUNNY,” Stiles shot back.  “It’s….”  His eyes glazed a little, unfocused, and he leaned heavily against his closed locker.  “Weirdly awesome.  Was it like this with Allison?”  
  
Scott’s eyebrows knotted together.  “Well, it was decidedly less weird,” he snarked, then subsided a little into wistfulness.  “But if you mean, like, the part where you think about each other all the time and you just want to bury yourself in their smell and you wish you could sleep next to them every night just so you can see, like, the way the sun shines on their skin every morning….”  
  
Stiles slung an arm around his shoulder and squeezed, bumping his forehead against Scott’s.  “I’m sorry, buddy,” he murmured.  “I didn’t mean to remind you.”  
  
Scott shrugged.  “S’cool,” he muttered.  “I mean, I’m not over it, but… it gets better.  I really hope you never have to find out,” he said with the kind of earnestness only Scott could muster, and Stiles smiled wanly and patted his shoulder.  
  
“Thanks.  But you know what, I’ve decided I don’t care whether this whole thing lasts or not.  I mean… how stupid would I have to be to get invested in Derek?  Guy does his own thing.  So I’m trying to not, y’know, get attached or anything and that way if he decides to move on or meets some totally sexy werewolf he wants to have little werewolf babies with I won’t act totally pathetic.  Hopefully.”  
  
“If he did that he’d be stupid,” Scott declared in a touching show of loyalty.  “Which… I guess sometimes he’s stupid, but he’d have to be really, really stupid.  And I’d probably beat him up.”  
  
Stiles snorted.  “Please, he’d kick your little werewolf ass.  Appreciate the thought, though.  Soooo… if I asked you some weird, private questions….?”  
  
Scott leaned forward and smacked his head gently into his locker door.  “Do I have to?”  
  
Stiles winced in mock sympathy.  “Sorry.  Best-friend obligation.  Plus, you got laid first so….”  
  
“Yeah, but with a girl!” Scott protested.  “I don’t know anything about guy on guy stuff.  Go harass Danny, isn’t that what you usually do?”  He scooped up his bag and slung his dirty cleats over his shoulder by the laces.  
  
“Well, I would, but Danny talks to Jackson,” Stiles pointed out, heaving a sigh and letting his eyes wander around the locker room as he followed Scott toward the door.  
  
“So?  Jackson thinks you’re dating Isaac.  Or he does until he gets a whiff of you and figures out the truth,” Scott pointed out.  
  
“Yeah, but I really don’t want the fact that I’m a clueless idiot in bed to get back to him,” Stiles hissed, twisting the strap of his own duffel bag between his hands.  “Even if he already assumes it, it’s better than letting him know for sure.”  
  
“Oh, for…”  Scott stopped him with a hand on his chest, glanced around, and then pulled Stiles bodily into the nearest empty classroom.  It was mostly unused and free of cameras and Stiles recognized it as the room Scott used to meet Allison before… well, before a lot of things.  Scott closed the door with his hip and hustled Stiles over to the windows where an eavesdropper was less likely to be able to hear them.  “Okay, fine,” he sighed with clear resignation.  “Shoot.”  
  
“Wow, really?”  Stiles rubbed a hand over his hair and swerved as if the words he wanted were floating in the air and all he had to do was spot them.  “Okay.  Um… I’ll try not to get too specific….”  
  
“Thank you,” Scott muttered, and Stiles laughed.  
  
“Uh… you and Allison.  You guys didn’t… I mean, you didn’t go all the way right away, right?”  Stiles had that wheedling look on his face, but Scott just looked slightly confused.  
  
“No.  I mean, of course not.  You kind of… build up to it, you know?  And I didn’t want to rush her,” he confessed.  “Plus, not really sure what I was doing, I mean, I read up on it?  But reading on it doesn’t really make you ready for it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles agreed.  “I’ve been reading up on it.  The thing is, it seems like… I guess everybody expects that guys are kind of horn dogs and when you put two of us together it should just be sex sex sex all the time.  But some of the more… um, let’s say ‘advanced’ stuff, I just… I feel like I should _want_ to go there, but I’m not really sure?  How did you…?  You and Allison, when did you figure out you were… ready?”  
  
The corner of Scott’s mouth pulled up in a wry, understanding smile, and he gave a soft laugh.  “She figured it out first.  Honestly, I think most of the time we just went at her pace.  Which was perfect for me,” he added quickly, “because… all I wanted was to make her happy, you know?  But it was cool because it was like, nothing was rushed.  We could just… touch, and that was okay.  And Allison was really great about talking to me,” he confessed.  “I know they say how important it is to talk, but dude, really, it’s important.  ‘Cause when she told me what she wanted or when she asked me then I felt like it was okay not to already know.  And I don’t know, it was weird,” he continued, eyes going a little distant, “but whenever she’d ask me, like, if something was okay, or if I wanted something… it made it more okay somehow.  Like if I was nervous, just that she asked and I could have said no and it would have been okay?  Made me feel better about doing it.  That’s probably weird.”  
  
“Um, no,” Stiles said weakly.  “Actually I’m pretty sure I know exactly what you’re talking about.”  
  
Scott eyed him.  “I don’t want to pry,” he said carefully.  “And I’m not trying to, like, imply anything or get all protective on you….”  
  
“Eh.”  Stiles laughed softly.  “I’d forgive you.”  
  
“… But I know Derek,” Scott concluded helplessly.  “And I’ve just got to ask.  Is he… being okay?”  Scott made an awkward gesture.  “You know, he’s… he’s not pushing you…?”  
  
“Oh!  No,” Stiles assured him.  “No, he’s actually been really good about checking in.  It’s just, we can’t stay here forever and I don’t really know how the whole relationship thing works and sometimes I wonder if he thinks I’m a clueless idiot, so.”  
  
“Why not?”  At Stiles’ look, Scott shrugged.  “Why can’t you stay where you are forever if it’s what you both like?”  
  
“Well, I… I….”  Stiles trailed off and exhaled through his lips, spinning slightly back and forth.  “Iiiiii never thought about it like that.”  
  
That earned a smile from Scott.  “So just stick with what you’re doing,” he suggested.  “And if you ever start doing more, you know, ‘advanced’ stuff, it should be because you really really _want_ to, not because you feel like you have to.”  
  
“That’s….” Stiles blew out more air, shoulders slumping.  “That’s actually really helpful.”  
  
Scott pulled him close and nuzzled him.  “I just want you to be okay,” he murmured.  “Even if you never get bitten we’re pack for life.  Right?”  
  
“Awww, you’re so romantic,” Stiles joked, and Scott playfully shouldered him.  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Nah, I got you, buddy.”  Stiles socked his shoulder lightly in return.  “Whew, let’s get out of here and find someplace less maudlin.  I want some cheese fries, you want some cheese fries?  Let’s go hit the Cyclone.  You know what?” he added, reaching out to paw Scott’s shirt as the emerged into the hallway, “let’s go get Isaac and Boyd and them.  We’ll go together.”  
  
Scott nodded.  “Yeah, sure, okay,” he said easily.  He smiled as Stiles began texting.  While he wasn’t sure how all these ‘pack bonding’ efforts would turn out in the long run, he liked it that Stiles was trying.  And it felt better to him to keep Erica, Boyd, and Isaac close… as if somehow, by spending more time with them, he could prevent them from getting hurt.  And if that meant he’d be the one taking a chair while the other four paired up in the booths… that was fine.  Missing Allison was like a constant ache, and while Stiles ran off down the hall to grab the rest of his stuff from his locker he almost, _almost_ texted her and invited her to come along.  
  
In the end, he chickened out, mostly because he didn’t want to hurt her.  It was still a little too soon to play the ‘let’s just be friends’ game even though they both hoped they would get there eventually.  
  
Lydia bumped into him while he was busy staring morosely at his phone.  
  
“Excuse you,” she snapped before realizing it was him, and softened slightly.  “Oh, Scott.”  Her eyes flicked down to the phone in his hands, and Scott hastily put it away.  
  
“Lydia,” he said, forcing an embarrassed smile.  “Sorry.  Guess I was….”  
  
“Moping over Allison?” She finished for him.  “You know, I don’t get you two.  You’re both _obviously_ miserable.  Why don’t you just end your suffering already and get back together?”  
  
Scott opened his mouth, shut it, and had to smile a little, because while Lydia was devilishly clever sometimes she was terribly transparent.  She could just as easily have suggested they date other people to help them get over each other but she knew they really wanted to be together and as bitchy as she could be even to her best friend she didn’t really want Allison to be lonely.  “It’s complicated,” he told her, and when she tossed her hair and started to stalk away, he reached out to stop her.  “Hey, Lydia… study group last night was really cool.”  
  
She tilted her head and pursed her perfectly-outlined lips.  “Well, it’s not MENSA,” she demurred, “but it wasn’t horrible.”  
  
“Listen, you were a big help,” Scott told her, “and I just wanted to say thanks.  We’re going to try to do it again sometimes, maybe once a week, and I know you’ve probably got a lot of stuff on your calendar but if you wanted to come sometimes, that’d be cool.”  He offered her a puppy-ish smile and watched her green eyes darken.  The truth was, since everything that had happened Lydia’s popularity had taken a bit of a downward slide.  She’d been associated with too much freakish behavior and too many violent events for people to feel comfortable with her anymore.  She did a phenomenal job of pretending it didn’t bother her, but as the debacle at her birthday party attested, her social calendar was no longer full… and Scott was just being kind by implying that it was.  
  
“Well,” Lydia said crisply.  “Obviously I have a lot going on.”  
  
“I know you do,” Scott assured her with total credulity.  
  
“But I could try to pencil you in.  Not every week,” she warned him, and Scott shrugged, offering her a guileless grin.  
  
“No, no, of course.  No, just some weeks is fine,” he promised.  “You know I can use all the help I can get.”  
  
Lydia looked him up and down critically.  “Well, you are kind of a hopeless case,” she sighed.  “But if we’re headed to state I can hardly let your grades affect the Lacrosse team now can I?  We’ll chalk it up as a public service,” she said with her trademark sharp-edged perkiness.  
  
“Well, let me make it up to you,” Scott suggested. “A bunch of us are going to the Cyclone to grab something to eat.  Why don’t you come with us?  On me,” he assured her, and Lydia turned a narrow-eyed look of penetrating appraisal on him.  
  
“Scooooott,” she fairly purred.  “Are you asking me out?”  
  
Scott gave a startled, embarrassed laugh and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Ummmm,” he hedged, and offered her an innocent smile.  “As friends?”  
  
She tilted her head and pursed her lips.  “Hm.  Well.  Since you’re being a gentleman, and since you do clearly owe me for my assistance with your little study group… I accept.  I’ll meet you there,” she told him loftily, and spun on one of her three-inch heels, swaying down the hall in forceful yet neatly-constrained steps.  
  
X-X-X  
  
  
Stiles was starting to get used to being surrounded by werewolves, so much so that he didn’t even feel mildly threatened when the five of them had to squeeze through the Cyclone Café’s entrance-way and he wound up squished against Boyd.  
  
“How many?” the hostess asked, and Stiles said, “Five,” only for Scott to elbow his way to the front and correct him.  
  
“Six!” he told the hostess, who obligingly changed her notation.  “There’s six of us.”  
  
“Ummmm, Scott,” Stiles began, and Scott threw him a sheepish look.  
  
“I invited Lydia.”  
  
“Oh!”  Stiles eyes widened, and that goofy grin stole across his face.  “Oh, wow, and she’s… she’s coming?  That’s great, yeah, excellent….!”  He let out an undignified squawk as Isaac wrapped a hand in his hoody and dragged him around the door frame to the empty corner by the door.  “What?” he protested, making quelling motions at Scott and Erica, who were both staring after them.  
  
Isaac shifted his weight, crowding Stiles against the glass, tipping his head back looking heavenward with clear exasperation.  “You have got to stop that,” he said, and Stiles blinked.  
  
“Stop…?”  
  
“THAT.”  When this failed to clarify anything, Isaac continued, “that thing you do whenever somebody mentions Lydia’s name.  Or whenever you see her.  Or whenever you talk about her.”  
  
“B-wuuuuwhat do you mean?”  Stiles chewed his lower lip and shied away from Isaac’s pointed stare.  
  
“Dude, you are so clearly still crazy about her,” Isaac said dryly.  “You’re like a puppy and I say that with full understanding of the irony.  First, she’s not into you, but second?  You’re supposed to be into me,” he pointed out, “and nobody is going to believe it if you’re falling all over yourself to get her attention.  Not to mention you’re actually into Derek,” he added.  “Chasing a girl while you’ve got a boyfriend waiting in the wings?  That’s pretty skeezy.”  
  
Stiles heaved a sigh and rubbed both hands across his face.  “It’s not like that,” he protested, but Isaac refused to have any of it.  
  
“Yeah,” he argued.  “It’s exactly like that.  I’ve been worried about you,” he said with a snort, earning a bewildered look from Stiles.  “Should I be worried about Derek?  Because he’s a dick but I know him well enough to know he doesn’t let people in easily.  Aaaaaand if you screw around on him….”  
  
“Oh for…!  Would all of you stop with the screwing?  There is no screwing!” Stiles whispered harshly, and Isaac gave that lazy laugh that came so easily to him.  
  
“Just try to remember that we’re pretend-boyfriends,” he said, smirking at Stiles as if he was the most utterly hopeless creature Isaac had ever been ill-fated to lay eyes on.  “We’re supposed to be in pretend-love.  Or at least pretend-like.  Pretend-lust….”  
  
“I get it,” Stiles said forcefully, and then reddened, because Isaac was leaning down and getting into his space in a way that was uncomfortably and obviously intimate. “In the meantime,” he hissed, “you remember it’s just pretend!”  
  
“Mmm.”  Isaac gave an amused chuckle.  “Relax.  You’re pack.  If you didn’t want to, you’d never have to sleep alone again.”  With that cryptic announcement, he nipped Stiles’ temple and backed off, capturing his hand and tugging him back to the group, who had just been corralled by the hostess.  
  
“This way,” she said, and took them to the coveted corner booth.  Erica and Boyd took one end of it and Isaac slid in next to Erica, pulling Stiles with him so he was tucked between Isaac and Scott and leaving the last spot on the end for Lydia.  Scott, eyebrows in his hair, threw Stiles an _is everything okay?_ look, which Stiles answered with a _don’t even ask_ look.  Isaac slipped his arms across the back of the booth behind Stiles and Erica.  Stiles squirmed, but Erica leaned against him and nuzzled against his shoulder.  
  
“Hey,” Stiles muttered sourly, bumping his knee against Isaac’s.  “Remember, we’re pretend boyfriends.”  
  
Isaac just laughed and pulled Stiles closer so his arm was draped snugly around his shoulders.  Scott looked like he was trying desperately to stifle his amusement.  They gave their drink orders and Lydia appeared just as the hostess was about to leave their table, stalking over in her heels with her tiny sequined purse hanging from her fingers.

"Well, looks like the gang's all here," she declared, and slid in beside Scott with a dark, almost triumphant smile.  "I can't stay all day, I have to get home in time to watch my ex-boyfriend grovel at my feet."

Stiles raised his glass to her.  "May we all be so lucky."  Laughing, Isaac and and Boyd did the same and Lydia favored them by clinking her glass delicately against theirs.

"But no," she said when they'd all drunk.  "Seriously?  I get this text from him halfway through European History."  She showed her phone to Scott, who leaned over and tried to look interested, reading aloud for the group's benefit.

"We need 2 talk - ur house?"

Lydia beamed and picked up her phone, her manicure clicking neatly against the case as she flipped her hair back.  "He's going to ask to come back.  I just know it.  Of course, I haven't decided yet whether I'll accept."

"Don't," Stiles blurted out, and Isaac flicked him in the ear, causing him to yelp and throw the wolf a wounded look, rubbing sullenly at the bruised cartilage. 

Lydia looked expectantly at Scott, who stammered, "I... I don't know.  I mean... he has been pretty much a jerk to you, but I mean... he's been going through a lot of stuff too.  Maybe now that some of it's over, things will be better?"

His answer disappointed her in some way because her mouth thinned and she slipped her phone back into her purse before straightening her shoulders and folding her hands delicately on the table.  "Well.  If he thinks I'll just come right back to heel when called he's got another think coming.  I deserve better."

"That's right," Stiles agreed, ignoring Isaac's withering look.  "So much better."  He coughed and became very interested in his silverware roll.

Lydia was oblivious.  "Thank you Stiles.  I must say, it's so refreshing to hang around with a group of real gentlemen for once even if you're not quite up to my usual standard.  Oh, and you two are SO cute together," she added, smiling benevolently at Isaac and Stiles, who managed to mutter a weak, "Thanks" and force a smile.  "And Erica," she continued, throwing Erica a fetching look.  "I just love the new you."

"Amazing what a curling iron and some heels can do," Erica said dryly and Lydia offered her a deliberate smile.

"Isn't it?  First impressions are so important.  But we really shouldn't deny your boyfriend his credit," she said with false earnestness.

Erica blinked and looked up at Boyd, who just looked confused.  

Lydia made a magnanimous gesture.  "Well, you're so much happier now!  I assume some of that is his handiwork.  Nothing changes your look as much as a real, genuine smile; that's how we know he's treating you well, so."  She turned to Boyd with a queenly incline of her chin.  "Well done."

 Boyd looked amused.  "Thanks," he said, and Lydia looked eminently self-satisfied.

Under the table, Stiles reached over and squeezed Erica's hand in silent thanks for not biting Lydia's head off.  Then he straightened and squirmed when Erica responded by squeezing his knee and sliding her hand slowly upward.

They ate cheese fries, burgers, and ultimate nachos.  They set Wednesdays as their study nights because it was the only night they all had free.  Stiles relaxed and let Isaac cuddle him, and even started teasing Erica back when she refused to stop toying with his thigh.  At the end of the night, Lydia air-kissed Stiles' cheeks and drove herself home, and Stiles gave Isaac a ride in the jeep.

"So, where should I drop you?" he wondered, since he still didn't have an invite to the lair, but Isaac shook his head.

"Can I come over for a while?"

"Wh-- what, to my house?" Stiles blinked, but shrugged.  "I guess.  Why not?  Nothing's wrong is it?"

"No, I just... sorry.  Don't mean to overstay my welcome."

Stiles pulled up to a stop sign and took the opportunity to give Isaac a long, dry look.  "You are NOT overstaying your welcome," he said firmly.  "You're welcome any time.  I mean, is anybody even feeding you?  You can't rely on Derek, he lives on raw meat and spite."

Isaac laughed.  "Yeah, well, you should be more careful.  If you keep feeding me I might try to get you to keep me," he joked, and Stiles just shrugged.

"Scott's over at my house all the time, eating all my food," he told Isaac, "there's nothing weird about it.  As long as you don't mind doing homework again...?"

"Homework's good," Isaac drawled.  "As long as your dad doesn't mind."

"Pfft, no, he won't mind."  Stiles chose not to point out that Sheriff Stilinski would probably prefer the boys spent every night safely tucked away in the house.  " _Mi casa es su casa_.  Seriously."

"Yeah?"  Isaac offered him one of those rare, genuine smiles and Stiles couldn't help smiling back.  "Okay."

"Great!  Cool.  My house."  Stiles put the jeep in gear and took the other turn.  "Fair warning, though, you do not want to hang around my Dad on taco night.  He doesn't mean anything by it, but that man is toxic and I'm not even joking."  That earned more of Isaac's laughter and Stiles kept his smile to himself as they headed home.


	10. INTERLUDE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is OUT OF ORDER.  
> Interludes occur outside the timeline and may contain spoilers.
> 
> This is just some smut I felt the need to write. There are some mild relationship spoilers.

Derek's weight was warm and welcome, and Stiles buried his face in his pillow, glad to be tucked snugly into his own bed for a change.  His lover's fingers wandered over his back and he smiled, melting with a happy sigh as Derek stroked up the line of his spine, then traced his fingertips from his shoulder-blade down to mid-back, then across to his ribs.

"Mmmm," he murmured as they snuggled together.  "That feels goo-................ Are you playing connect-the-dots?" 

Derek's fingers paused, and Stiles could feel his guilt in the silence and huffed.

"I can tell, y'know," he grumbled into the pillow, and Derek laughed, leaning over him and kissing the back of his neck.

"Do you not like connect-the-dots?" he murmured against Stiles' ear, and Stiles rolled one shoulder dismissively.

"I know I have moles.  You don't have to draw attention."

"Mm... no," Derek disagreed, shifting, straddling Stiles' butt and leaning down to brush his mouth over his skin.  "I really think I need to draw attention.  What if I do it like this?" he murmured as his tongue traced a hot, slick path from the nape of Stiles' neck down his spine, and Stiles moaned despite himself, arching into that touch with a soft whimper.  "And here?" Derek whispered, sliding down his body, finding a spot on the back of his hip and flicking his tongue over it before dragging it all the way up, from hip to shoulder, and biting just hard enough to make Stiles twitch in response.

"Nnnph," Stiles moaned, knotting his fingers in the pillowcase.  "Derek...!"  He lifted his hips, spreading his thighs in a way he'd long since stopped worrying was whorish, gasping when Derek found the little black spot that marked the edge of one taut ass-cheek where it joined his thigh and followed the crease around, almost to the base of his ball sack.  His hot breath caressed Stiles' vulnerable package and then he moved away, nipping and biting along the other cheek and giving Stiles' ass a sharp smack that made him hitch with a needy moan.  Then strong hands were kneading his flesh, pulling his cheeks apart, and cool air touched his hole, causing Stiles to clench reflexively.  It didn't help - Derek had him well in hand, and when he leaned in close to that tight ring of muscle, Stiles muffled a cry in his pillow, toes curling as he waited for Derek to touch him.

They'd done plenty of ass play in the effort to desensitize Stiles to that sort of contact, in the hopes that maybe, eventually, they could have anal sex.  Shallow penetration didn't bother him anymore, and he could actually kind of enjoy it if plenty of lube was involved, but none of that had prepared him for the feel of Derek's tongue probing him there.  His body gave a long, undulating shudder as Derek's hands wrapped around his hips, holding him firmly in place as his cock swelled to full hardness under the teasing flicks of his tongue.  Then he plunged inside and Stiles gasped, cock twitching, balls aching and tight as his writhing against Derek's grip made them bounce.  Derek didn't know the meaning of the word 'relent'... he pushed his tongue into Stiles, hooked it and pulled it back, used his teeth and the suction of his mouth to tease his anal ring until Stiles was shuddering and sobbing into the pillow, begging him in broken, half-formed pleas and stuttered curses to stop, to never stop, to give him some kind of relief.  Derek responded with a wicked, affectionate growl and another firm smack that left a slightly-reddened handprint across Stiles' skin.  His tongue wasn't quite long enough to do more than tease his prostate, certainly not firm enough for the kind of contact he needed to cum from that kind of stimulus alone, and as Derek showed no intention of stopping his torment any time soon, Stiles finally caved and reached down to grip his own cock.  He was half-afraid Derek would pin his hands to stop him from touching himself - he'd done that before - but instead, Derek gave a low growl that reverberated all the way up Stiles' spine and pulled back, biting one ass cheek just barely short of breaking the skin.  

"That's it," he rumbled.  "Touch yourself.  Cum for me."

Stiles' answering groan seemed to come from his toes, and he obediently squeezed and stroked himself as Derek forced his tongue back into him and flicked it against his slicked inner walls.  The smooth thrust of that slick muscle and the contrasting sharpness of his teeth had Stiles half-melted and writhing, every muscle taut, straining, sucking air through a tight throat as he twisted his fingers around his cock, grinding the soft skin against the shaft.

He half expected his balls to retract up inside him when he came, they felt so bruised from trying too hard to clench against the elusive squirming of Derek's tongue.  Derek didn't stop, he never stopped when Stiles was cumming, and Stiles was just glad the house was empty and the window closed because otherwise the neighbors would have been hearing his cries even though his face was fully buried in his pillow.  It wracked his body, tearing humiliating noises from him as he wiggled in Derek's grip, hips thrusting back and forward, trying to get more, trying to get away.  His eyes were wet when it finally ended, a stubborn lump in his throat that he hitched to clear, and he slumped, shivering in residual pleasure, as Derek kissed the back of his neck and fondled him gently with one strong hand slipped between his thighs.  

"Mine," Derek whispered against his ear, giving it a sharp nip, and Stiles had absolutely no strength to protest.

"Love you," he whispered hoarsely, and Derek wrapped around him, pulling him into the safety of his warmth.  He fixed the covers so all that heat was trapped underneath with them, then made sure Stiles was comfortably nestled against his chest, holding him tight enough that even asleep, Stiles usual restlessness wouldn't break him free of his arms.  Stiles loved that possessiveness - there was no safer place to be, and with Derek breathing steadily into his hair, keeping his head tucked against his chin, he let himself relax, sleep closing over his head like black lake waters, dragging him under.

 


End file.
